Thick Walls, Thicker Bonds
by AlexisJames92
Summary: Sequel to Son of Salazar. Harry finds his way back to the present, only it's been ten years since he left and everyone thinks he's dead. Neville has been hailed as the Prophecy Child, though the Wizarding World (and Dumbledore) sees him as a disappointment. Everything changes when The Dursley's are found dead. Cause of death? A basilisk. Eventual Tomarry.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay, so since a lot of you guys didn't like the original names, which was just going to be "The Heir of Slytherin", I've decided to take a reader's suggestion ( as you can see) and call it Thick Walls, Thicker Bonds. And so I thank the one who reviewed that!**

 **And, yes, for those of you who asked, this plot is going to be VERY different from the Snarry one. For one, this isn't a crossover (the other one is) also, in the Snarry fic, Sammael is transported to exactly 4 years after he vanished in his original timeline. In this story, it's been ten. FADAH!**

 **Sammael's magical orientation, unlike in the other story, will be Grey leaning towards Dark.**

 **One last thing: This IS a sequel for the people who randomly picked this up. So if you haven't already, I suggest reading through my other story "The Son of Salazar" so that you can get a good idea of what's going on. Don't worry, it's not that long, only 10 chapters. Thanks to all of you who followed the story so far, and HELLO to the new peoples!**

 **May the gods be ever in your favor,**

 **-James**

It was storming out, lightning cutting through the dark night sky just outside the window. The main source of light came from Kai, who sat perched on the back of a plush chair. Besnik was clutching onto Sammael's body, wrapped around him tightly, moaning. Sammael stroked him, but made no move to get up. His stomach lurched, and Sammael forced down the bile that was clawing its way up his throat.

" ** _Let's never do that again_** ," Besnik pleaded pathetically. Sammael couldn't help but chuckle as his phoenix agreed vehemently. He recognized this place, he saw it often enough in his nightmares. He was back here, Number 4 Privet Drive. His eyes were pulled over to his old cupboard, he briefly wondered if his old things were still in there. He was about to wander over there, when the lights suddenly flicked on, blinding him.

"Who the hell are you?" spat a purple faced, overweight man with wadded up fists. Uncle Vernon, Sammael realized, he's gotten fatter. "Answer me! I know you're one of those _freaks_ ," Sammael flinched at the use of his old name. "And I'll have you know we don't put up with _your kind_ here. And like we told that old guy YEARS ago, the boy ran away! He's probably dead by now!" A vicious gleam in Vernon's eye made Sammael sneer. Besnik shifted under his robes as Sammael began to reach for his wand.

" ** _Let me kill him, Mael_** ," pleaded the basilisk. " ** _This is the one you've told us about_**?" he continued. " ** _The one who used to hurt you_**?" At Sammael's nod, the basilisk pleaded once more. " ** _Let me kill him_**." Kai trilled in agreement. Sammael _was_ going to refuse, but then Petunia came down the stairs.

She screamed. "Not one of you!" she wailed, clutching at her night gown as though Sammael were some kind of monster. Sammael stroked his familiar.

" ** _Go ahead_** ," he said. " ** _I won't stop you_**."

***1047***

Dumbledore was a man who always had a plan for everything. It had gotten to the point where his followers were convinced he was omniscient. Dumbledore, for his part, did nothing to discredit these rumors. His plans never failed him…all except for that _one_.

He'd set it up so carefully. He'd seen the potential one Tom Riddle had had. This young man with such a large, powerful _dark_ core. It was easy, after Grindlewald, to spread the rumors that all dark magic was evil. He prevented anyone from the wizarding world from adopting Riddle, and then watched as his fear of death—kindled from the many, many bombings he'd had to witness as a child—mold him into a Dark Lord.

Dumbledore had planned on ridding the wizarding world of this "threat" himself. Though, after Tom had studied the Dark Arts for years, he'd come back to Hogwarts in hopes of being a teacher. When that door was closed, he'd tried to go into politics, though Dumbledore was ready with the media on his side, and he'd quickly spread fear for "Dark Lord Voldemort". So in retaliation, Voldemort raised up followers, mainly his old school friends and their families, and lead them against Dumbledore and his Order. But then things started going wrong.

While Dumbledore and Tom were evenly matched, the Order and the Death Eaters were not. Voldemort's men were more powerful by far. Dumbledore needed a new player.

He'd targeted the Potters, knowing that one Severus Snape held great affection for the wife. With a well-placed _Imperio_ , he fed Sybil Trelawney a 'prophecy' once he was certain that Severus was just outside the door of his unwarded room. Aberforth had caught Severus halfway through, as Dumbledore had planned.

Before they released Severus, however, Dumbledore had _Imperioed_ him as well. Through Snape, he had then put a compulsion on Voldemort to eliminate the 'competition' himself. Then he'd convinced Lily to perform a blood ritual on her son, not telling her that in order for this ancient magic to take hold, the caster had to die.

And die she did, by Tom's wand. And then Voldemort was 'defeated' by Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. Dumbledore planned to raising this child up with Muggles, to teach him to be meek and obedient, and then he'd step in and save young Harry from the muggles, take him to Hogwarts and play the part of the grandfatherly Headmaster to use the Boy Who Lived's fame to bolster his own.

But then he found out about Tom's Horcruxes from Slughorn. The thrice damned fool.

And then Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, had to go and get himself killed. Well, at least, he was _presumed_ dead.

When the BWL was absent from the Welcoming Feast, that fateful year that the entire wizarding world had been waiting for, Dumbledore, Severus and Minerva had paid the Dursley's a visit, only to find that the boy's magic was all but faded from the house. He hadn't been there for years. The Dursley's would only say that the boy disappeared. When Severus used _Legilimency_ on them, he confirmed with great confusion: the boy had _literally_ vanished into thin air. God knew where the boy was now.

When Voldemort managed to steal the Philosopher's stone that year, rumors spread like wild fire. The Dark Lord was back. The Dark Lord would rise again. The Dark Lord was simply biding his time. And so, they Wizarding World turned to the only other child that the prophecy could have meant, since it _obviously wasn't_ Harry Potter: Neville Longbottom.

Neville was hailed as the Prophecy Child, now that the Boy Who Lived was dead. If it were _any other child_ , Dumbledore would have jumped on this opportunity. It would have been perfect. He would have just raised up this child the way he would have with Harry, he as certainly meek enough, after being raised by the abrasive Augusta Longbottom. There was only one problem: The boy might as well have been a squib!

He had difficulty with the simplest of spells, he couldn't stay on a broom to save his life, he had the lowest scores in Defense Against the Dark Arts that had **EVER** been seen at Hogwarts. The only thing he was even remotely capable at was Herbology. But what kind of Hero was a _gardener_?

The boy wasn't even a Gryffindor! He'd been sorted into Hufflepuff.

Dumbledore, for the first time since Gellert, had no idea what to do. He'd been alerted by his people in the Aurors that morning that the Dursley's—the family he'd trust the BWL to—had all been found murdered.

But it was _how_ they were murdered that worried Dumbledore. The son had been killed with the Killing Curse, but the parents…they were found by the police as stone statues. They'd been looked into the eyes by a basilisk. Only a parselmouth could control the King of Serpents. And there was only one known parselmouth living, as far as Dumbledore knew.

But the worst news was that Voldemort was just as surprised, according to Severus. The Dark Lord also had people in the ministry, who'd reported this back to him. According to Snape, Tom had frozen in place for several moments before breaking into manic laughter and ordering his Death Eaters to find the one who killed them, and bring them to him.

So if it wasn't Lord Voldemort, who was it?

***1047***

Neville was out in his garden early that day, the sun was barely peeking up from behind the horizon. He was always out in his garden as much as he could be during the summer, so that he could avoid his gran. His gran who would always remind him how much of a disappointment he was. How sorry of a replacement he was for The Harry Potter. How she wished that Frank Longbottom, his father, had been spared in place of Neville. That one stung the most, honestly. Partly because Neville wished it, too.

When Neville was younger, he used to dream about his parents waking up and being fine. When Gran would take him to St. Mungos to visit, he'd always close his eyes, right before he'd open the doors, and make a wish. He'd wish to fine them healed, sitting in their right minds talking quietly.

But that was never what he'd find. It would be the same, visit after visit. Year after year. Around the time he was ten, he'd come to accept that he would never get to have a real family. It would always just be him and Gran. But then, then Neville started having the most wonderful dreams. He would dream that a handsome, no _beautiful_ man would come and take him away. He dreamed that this man would adopt him, that they would be a family.

He dreamed that this man would be powerful, so powerful that some of it rubbed off on Neville, and the man would teach Neville everything he'd know and then Neville would become powerful too. And then, then he'd get to show all of those people who looked down on him how wrong they were. He'd show Dumbledore. He'd show Gran. Heck, he'd even show that snot-nosed brat in Gryffindor _Ronald Weasley_ how wrong _he_ was, for saying that Neville was weak.

It's funny, Neville thought, the only ones who never snubbed him were the Slytherin's, who were supposedly evil. Them and his friends: Cedric, a seventh year who had been the champion last year during the Triwizard Tournament. (That had gone so well, that they were talking about doing it again this year.) and Neville's best friend, a Ravenclaw a year younger than he, Luna Lovegood. Sometimes he'd dream about his friends. He saw Luna with a weird tiara on her head. He saw Cedric asking the handsome man who'd adopt Neville where he'd gotten his scar.

Cedric thought that Neville might be a seer, and Luna had agreed that the Jujunbugs were living his his brain…which Neville thought to mean she thought so as well. Neville, for one, hoped that he _was_ in fact, a seer. Because it meant that it would be soon. Every day Neville woke up early to head out to his garden, but he'd be watching the drive as he worked, hoping to see that man walking up. He always held his breath when he got a letter, and was always sorely disappointed when it turned out to be a letter from Luna or Cedric.

Maybe he wasn't a seer after all?

***1047***

Lord Voldemort was most pleased.

Lucius had reported in early this morning with the new that _Harry Potter_ 's family had recently been murdered. The weapon of choice? A basilisk. As far as Voldemort knew, the only basilisk still alive was his old friend Eadlin, who was currently sleeping in the Chamber of Secrets. That serpent had told the most wonderful stories about Salazar himself. Salazar, and someone named Sammael who Salazar had loved. However, Eadlin hadn't been fully coherent. She was old, and her mind was going. Which was understandable, after all if she truly _had_ been Salazar's familiar, she would then be almost a millennia old. Even still, she hadn't been able to tell Voldemort, Tom at the time, who Sammael was. Was he a lover of Salazar? A friend? A son?

According to Eadlin, Sammael was just as powerful as Salazar. Sometimes, he would seem _more_ powerful. Salazar apparently died because of him, though he hadn't been able to get that full story out of her either. In the end, Tom ended up just having to send her back to sleep: she kept escaping the Chamber and petrifying students. She always felt terrible about it, she was a sweet old gal, she just didn't remember how to _not_ petrify people.

Tom didn't even know that was an option. And so, while he'd learned much from that beautiful basilisk, it raised more questions than answers.

And yet, there was apparently someone else who could control a basilisk. No one was around, so Voldemort allowed a tiny, rueful grin. They could control a basilisk even better than _he_ could. Of course, if the basilisk was able to fit into that tiny house, it must mean that their basilisk was smaller, therefore, younger. Voldemort had tried to hatch a basilisk of his own, but he'd never been able to manage it. The toads would always hop off of the egg. When he'd tried a sticking charm, it had crushed the egg. Perhaps this person would help him hatch one of his own?

There was almost no doubt in his mind that he and this person were at least _distantly_ related. And if there's one thing that the boy Tom Riddle had wanted more than power, more than immortality, it was family. Of course, Voldemort was no longer that boy, but he still had a special place in his mind for that particular fantasy, even though he hadn't visited it in years, after he'd turned 15 and he accepted that he'd never get adopted.

He sat back in his throne, wondering what this person was like. Was it a man, or woman? How old were they? How powerful were they? Would they be content to follow Voldemort? Not likely, not if they were truly a descendant of Salazar Slytherin.

He have to call in Severus later, have him report anything his spy had learned from Dumbledore. Perhaps the old coot would know more about this mysterious new participant of their game.


	2. Chapter 2

Sammael had been busy. He'd given a dozen goblins at Gringotts heart attacks when they'd learned who he was. Apparently, having a sealed savings vault for 900 really added up in interest. Sammael was…wealthy, to put it lightly. He'd never have to work a day in his life. In fact, his descendants—should he ever had any—wouldn't have to work for _at the very least_ ten generations. He'd given generous tips to ensure that his identity would remain private for now, but even still it was relatively easy for him to buy a modest house in Hogsmeade. Had he wanted, he could have built himself a castle. But, he felt the need to be close to Hogwarts.

After that, he'd raided Salazar, Selwyn and Salazar Jr's private vaults. He'd found their journals, their books with their discoveries, bottled memories and various heirlooms. He'd been in 2004 for about a week now, and he'd spent every moment he could spare pouring through these books.

Salazar II seemed to despise Mundanes even more than the original had. Selwyn wrote about how he would regularly storm Mundane Villages who had been mistreating a magical child born there, and burn the entire thing to the ground after rescuing the child. Salazar II's grandchildren were just as prejudice. Sammael was saddened to learn that Mundanes had murdered Synnove and her three young children in retaliation. However, he couldn't help but feel pride as he read about his little brother's accomplishments: he tamed dragons, herded unicorns, discovered new lands, invented new potions and rituals. While Salazar II focused on completely separating the wizarding world from the Mundanes, Selwyn worked on bringing peace between the wizards, vampires, werewolves and Veela (along with many other creatures).

Both wizards, in their journals, claimed to be successful. Curious, Sammael then started collecting old newspapers, as well as modern history books. He became a regular at Florish and Blotts. It got to the point where the workers would always light up with smiles and rush to his side, inquiring what he was looking for that particular day.

What he found disgusted him.

Mundanes, or Muggles as they were called in modern times, were in fact completely separated from the wizarding world, and so Salazar II was most certainly successful. However, _Muggleborns_ were integrated into wizarding society at the age of ELEVEN. Eleven. Not only that, but the _returned_ to the Muggle world every summer. They were so full of foolish muggle opinions that they then tried to change wizarding life to match the muggles! They even managed to undo all of Selwyn's hard work (some of the only peaceful work the Slytherin Line ever attempted) by spreading irrational fear for vampires (who usually asked permission before they fed on somebody) and werewolves.

Werewolves suffered the most at the Muggleborns' hands. The poor creatures were often separated from their pack after being bitten, then hidden away for their childhood. Well NO WONDER there were so many cases of werewolf attacks! If somebody tried treating Sammael like that _he'd_ probably start biting people, for Merlin's sake! By neglecting their creature side, it made the transformations harder, and generations of it reduced werewolves to little more than blood-thirsty rabid dogs by divesting them of their senses during the full moon. Not only that, but they weren't able to transform at will, anymore. They could _only_ change during the full moon. The most horrid thing of all, is werewolves like someone named Fenrir Greyback were made out to be monsters for giving into their instincts and actually _acting like a werewolf_. It was so unexplainably absurd it blew Sammael's mind that the werewolves hadn't fought back harder than they were!

Uncontrollable monsters. Ha! Marches and protests. That's what the werewolves were doing to try to gain sympathy. And yet, they were still called and treated like monsters. The injustice of it was disgusting.

Sammael's interest was whetted by a fellow called "You-Know-Who" or "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named" who apparently descended from Salazar Slytherin II's line. Seems like little Sal's blood-thirsty-ness was genetic. The "Dark Lord"'s name wasn't anywhere, which Sammael found slightly annoying. However, it did say that in a war, he fought for the Dark side against the Light. Sammael found this confusing. Why were the two sides fighting? They were two halves of the same coin, practically the same thing. It was like a two headed cobra's different faces attacking each other. Don't they realize that if either is abdicated completely, that both sides die? Though, from Sammael's studies, it seems that a man called Albus Dumbledore fought to repress all Dark, Blood, Soul and Black magic. He called them evil, and the public bought it. Perhaps "You-Know-Who" was simply fighting for the right to practice Dark magic?

Of course, Sammael would never get the chance to ask him. It seems that he was defeated by the "Boy-Who-Lived" Harry Potter. The name seemed familiar to him, somehow, and yet he couldn't remember from where. A Killing Curse rebounded? It sounds like somebody performed an ancient Blood Ritual for protection, ironic as it is. So it wasn't the boy at all, but rather whoever performed the ritual, who should be remembered as Savior.

Sammael found himself impressed by "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named". The history books said he "managed to manipulate the werewolves and vampires" over to his side. Which means he may have also been fighting for creature rights.

It worried him, the state of the public mind, that they should thing _this_ man was the evil one. Sure, there were articles about the Dark Lord killing or torturing people, but it was either Mundanes (Who no doubt deserved it, one way or another), or people on the _other side of the_ _ **war**_. War, that's what it was. There was no doubt in Sammael's mind that the Light side also killed members of the Dark side, but of course, those weren't documented.

Because, as always, it was the winners who wrote the history books.

One case impressed Sammael: The Longbottoms. Sammael snorted at the last name. These people were noble, strong and brave. And yet they were stuck with a family name like the "Longbottoms". Briefly, Sammael wondered what their ancestors had done for a living, to garner a name like that. But there was no doubting their strength, having lasted under the _Crutacious_ for as long as they did. Unfortunately, they did go insane after a while. Though it says that they had a son who escaped unharmed. There was a picture of a sweet-looking, round-faced boy in the history book.

***1047***

Lord Voldemort was…curiously angry? Frustrated might be a way to describe it. It had been over two weeks, and the one who killed Harry Potter's relatives hadn't been captured, or even identified. On one hand, this was a good thing, because Dumbledore and the Light hadn't gotten them. On the other, it wasn't, because that meant Voldemort hadn't found them either.

Lucius had ear in every branch of the ministry. Severus was keeping an eye out at Hogwarts. Fenrir Greyback had investigated among the werewolves. Nothing. It was as though a basilisk simply dropped out of nowhere, killed the two muggles, then disappeared. Lucius even told him that that particular scenario had been considered, before they'd found the boy upstairs, who'd been killed by a wand.

An _unregistered_ wand. Even Voldemort's own Yew and Phoenix feather wand was registered at the ministry, after all, he'd bought it at Ollivanders, who was loyal to the ministry. But this one wasn't registered in England, France, Bulgaria, Russia or anywhere else they'd checked.

So there was a large possibility this mystery wizard simply made his wand himself. Ministry officials, Lucius said, had examined the magical residue. They were able to guess that the core of the wizard was either thestral hair or phoenix feather (which amused Voldemort, as those were the two most opposite materials you could find). They also determined that the wizard was exceedingly powerful (which made Voldemort snort, actually snort. He could control a _basilisk_ , so of course he's going to be powerful). But what really made him curious, was that there was evidence of an unknown ritual taking place at the Muggle residence. Lucius brought over as many details as he could, but the burn markings of runes on the floor puzzled him, they didn't match anything Voldemort had ever seen.

Voldemort was going to go insane (more so than he already was) if any more questions added themselves to the ones he already had. He was already half considering polyjuicing himself, or putting on a glamor, and simply looking for this mystery wizard himself.

***1047***

Sammael was disgusted by the state of the government. At first, he'd been elated to learn that the wizarding world had established their own government separated from the mundanes…muggles, whatever you wanted to call them. But then, he'd broken into the Ministry. It had been pure child's play. Honestly, it's as though they purposefully searched for the most incompetent people they could and then employed them without any instruction of how to do their job.

Though, Sammael mused, if they had been good at their job, he wouldn't have been as successful in his little project.

He'd learned from a useful little book called _Hogwarts: A History_ that Helena still resided at the school as a ghost, though it said she'd never birthed any heirs, which meant all Ravenclaw descendants must have come from her brother. Helga, however, had many children, as did Godric. Salazar II had two twin sons, and Selwyn had four daughters and three sons. However, he could find no where if the lines continued through to present day. And so Sammael broke into the ministry to get a peek at the official records of families.

It had taken about five hours, a lunch break, then four more hours, but Sammael had found out a great deal. The Hufflepuff line had two survivors: a man named Geofry Smith and his son, Zacharias Smith. It seemed to Sammael that they were well off, though not publicly recognized as her decedents, due to having no proof, which Sammael found odd since that particular note had been relatively close to the actual self-updating family tree of Helga. Sammael had a growing suspicion that someone purposefully erased all knowledge of any Hogwarts heirs, as much the same thing had happened to Rowena's line. The Prince line was the last of it, the heir, though, had been disowned years ago: one Severus Snape, who, ironically, had been a Slytherin in school.

Salazar's line had been the hardest to discover, because all that was in that particular file had been a huge blank scroll. It took Sammael a good ten minutes of just staring at it to figure it out. Then he felt a bit foolish. He cut his palm, allowing a small amount of blood to drip onto the parchment. The blood formed lines, then names. Sammael eagerly drunk in the names as they stretched downward. At the very end was a single name: Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Odd, Sammael thought. He'd already read that Mr. Dark Lord "You-Know-Who" was the last descendant of the Slytherin Line. Then Sammael spent the next minute and a half laughing like an idiot. Riddle must have been pretty terrifying to make a name like _Tom_ so scary that none dare repeat it. Sammael made a mental note that, if he should ever have children, to name the eldest Tom.

He noted with interest that there was no death date by Tom's name.

It was, however, Godric's name that saddened Sammael and confused Sammael. There were three names that were not accompanied by a death date: Augusta Lorene Longbottom, Neville Franklin Longbottom, Harry James Potter.

This told Sammael two things. That neither Harry nor Tom was dead, and that a descendent of Godric and a descendent of Salazar were destined to try and kill each other until one succeeded.

***1047***

Neville cringed as he backed up against the wall. Gran was yelling at him again, but she was screaming so incoherently, that Neville had a hard time understanding a word she was saying. It wasn't like he _told_ that plant to attack that vase. But she blamed him for breaking that "priceless family heirloom" anyway.

And then she started going on about the state of his clothing. Neville almost found it amusing, how she blamed him for outgrowing his clothes. Almost. As it was, she was going on about _'Frank'_ not being this hard to care for. How _'Frank_ ' had been at the top of all his classes. How ' _Frank_ ' wouldn't be shaming the family name with 'soft work' like 'gardening'.

But it wasn't just 'gardening', Neville wanted to argue. He was experimenting with breeding different plants into a weaponized version of the original, to help guard the house. No one would ever expect a rose to start flinging thorns at them, lease of all a robber. But Gran never listened to him when he started talking about his plants. In fact, she never listened to him at all. Period.

The only good thing that happened today, was Gran deciding that he needed to take himself to Diagon Alley, saying that she was getting too old to be 'chasing Neville around' the crowded streets. Neville mentally scoffed at this; as though she's ever had to chase him. Even still, Neville muttered meek apologies as he ran up the stairs to put on a clean outer robe and grab his money sack.

At least he'd get a day out of this horrible house.


	3. Chapter 3

Fifteen years. Fifteen horrible, long, lonely years. That's how long he'd been here, locked in this cell. His mind was broken; he had just enough sense left to recognize that. His body was unkempt, sore, unhealthy, unlovely and almost as broken as his mind. But it was his heart that hurt the most. Once a month, he'd spy the beautiful, silvery full moon through his cell window. The wondrous, magical sight filled his soul with longing, nostalgia and pain all at once. He wondered where his mate was. He wondered if his gentle wolf had ever found happiness.

Sirius hoped so, even though it pained him to imagine Remus in another's arms.

He had no idea what was happening in the outside world. Dumbledore, the man who had secured the Fedilius Charm to Pettigrew, must have been killed in the war. Why else hadn't the Headmaster come to free him? Albus knew of his innocence. The Dark must have won. Sirius could only find comfort in that sweet little Harry was probably with his Remus. And Remus was probably living a better life than he had previously; it was well known that the Dark was fighting for creature rights.

Sirius curled up in his animagus form, hiding under his bed from the dementors. The screams of the other prisoners rang through the cold prison of Azkaban. The moan of the dementors and the pounding of the guards footsteps were just as much of a constant. Sirius had nearly managed to drift off to sleep, a small miracle in and of itself, when voices—sane voices—were heard just outside his cell. Slowly, Sirius pulled himself up and towards the bars of his cell. He was a human now. Two men stood outside, a guard and an official looking man Sirius didn't recognize.

"…but who knows when the Dark Lord will make a move?" asked the guard. "Just because he's been quiet so far doesn't mean it'll stay that way. He's probably just gaining support, in the shadows, until he's strong enough to topple the ministry."

"Nah," argued the other man. "He'd most likely go straight for Dumbledore. Him or the Prophecy Child."

"Longbottom?" asked the guard skeptically. Then he gave a mocking laugh. "Ha! That kid probably doesn't know the front of his own wand to the back."

Sirius' head was spinning. Wasn't Harry the prophecy child? And Dumbledore…was alive? "To bad about the Potter kid, both his parents were so powerful. If he'd survived he would have made a far more capable 'savior'." Both men nodded sadly as they walked on.

Sirius felt like he'd been sucker punched in the gut. Harry…Merlin no…Harry was dead? A sob fell from his lips. What of Remus? Was Remus all alone? Remus couldn't handle being alone! Remus, sweet Remy…No…was his mate dead? NO! Sirius would have felt it in the bond if Remus had passed on. Wouldn't he? Or was he too far gone?

Sirius transformed. He hadn't eaten in over a month, couldn't bring himself to touch a bite of the horrible, meager stuff they called food here. He was so skinny, he just padded right through the bars. No one paid attention to the scrawny, half dead dog that limped out of Azkaban. At the edge of the sea, Sirius paused, wondering if he'd make it to the other side. Then he dove in, deciding it didn't really matter, one way or the other.

***1047***

Remus stared mournfully at the full moon, his snout supported on his two huge paws. Severus and he had long since mended their relationship. One might even call them friends. They had made this strange agreement a while ago: Whenever Severus wanted a day off, Remus would 'sub' for him. In return, Remus was 'gifted' a generous supply of Wolfsbane Potion for his birthday, Easter, Christmas…the occasional Friday…

And so, Remus never went without his senses during a full moon. But in some ways, Remus didn't know if this was a blessing or a curse. Because he could feel Moony's intense longing for Padfoot. His mate. The man who, at one time long passed, Remus had thought he would marry.

But Sirius Black was a traitor. He'd sold out Lily and James to Voldemort. But the whole thing confused Remus. Lily and James were technically neutral. They weren't a part of Dumbledore's Order, like the Longbottoms were. They were only considered light because James had been one of the top Aurors. Lily, herself, had many friends on the "Dark" side, like Severus who still grieved Lily's death like a lover.

And what would Voldemort have that Sirius didn't already? Sirius' friends solely consisted of the ones he betrayed. The Grim Animagus didn't really contact or hang out with anyone outside of their little family. Sirius was rich, sticking filthy rich, so it wasn't money. It wasn't for adventure; Sirius was bond mated with a werewolf for pities' sake!

Moony howled at the moon. Remus cried.

He missed Padfoot.

He missed Sirius.

But he'd lost them both, and he didn't know why.

***1047***

Neville smiled softly to himself as he maneuvered through the street of Diagon Alley. He had his hood pulled up, covering his face so that no one would recognize the "Prophecy Child". He already been fitted for his robes, he just had to wait an hour while they were finished. He'd visited the apothecary to buy some moonstone to grind and add to the soil of some of his nocturnal plants who were close to bloom. Then he'd stopped by the plant nursery and admired the new shipment of aconite saplings and Mandrake sprouts.

A commotion in the street caught Neville's attention. He rushed out, to see three men Aurors, struggling with something blocked from view, stuffed in a sack. It was thrashing about, strange moaning shrieks came from it. Neville wondered about it, if it was a Dark Artifact or the like. Then he saw they were headed for the Pet Store. Neville rolled his eyes. Some rich folk had probably mail ordered a dragon; It wouldn't have been the first time.

Then a woman nearby screamed, and a blast of blue magic, or flame Neville couldn't tell, blasted out of the top of the bag. It was coming straight for him. Neville's wand was immediately in his hand, his hood fell back from his face. _"Protego!"_ He yelled, his voice cracking slightly on the last syllable. The shield he conjured was weak, no way it could stand up to that force.

Then all of a sudden, it strengthened on its own. And the fire/spell/whatever, simply dissipated against it. Neville couldn't feel it at all.

***1047***

Sammael watched in amusement as three men in uniform tried to get an infant Swedish Short-Snout back into its fire-proof bag. Part of him was outraged that they would treat such a magnificent beast this way, part of him wondered who was crazy enough to purchase one. Swedish Short-Snouts were notoriously hard to handle. Their magical blue flame was enough to reduce rock to ashes in mere moments. What kind of idiots were they, parading around with it in a crowded area?

He was about to continue onwards—he had an appointment at a tailor's, Madame Munchin or something like that—when he felt a powerful magical signature. He turned to see a young man, his hood pulled up. Sammael watched him intently, as the young man gaped at the display in the street. A burst of heat from nearby. The dragon had gotten its head loose, and had shot a burst of flame out. The blue streak headed straight for the young man with the powerful aura. Sammael's eyes widened as the boy's hand came up smoothly, almost instinctively, his wand gripped with ease and familiarity that only came from hours of practice. At the same time, his hood fell back, Sammael smiled. Of course this boy was good, it was none other than Godric's last heir: The Longbottom boy.

Sammael almost panicked when he saw the pathetic excuse for a _Protego_ that the boy conjured. What was wrong with him? With magic that strong, the simple shield charm should be child's play. Wandlessly and wordlessly, Sammael strengthened the shield. He noticed with amusement that the boy looked amazed at the result. The flame extinguished on contact. People began muttering as they saw the boy's face, but Sammael paid them no mind as he put the young dragon to sleep. The handler's hurriedly closed the bag, then hollered out a thanks to Longbottom before apparating away.

People started applauding the boy, who still was gaping with his wand help out in front of him, thinking that it was he who subdued the dragon. The boy blushed and scurried away, pulling his hood up. Sammael started after him in pursuit.

***1047***

Neville's mind was racing. What had happened? He knew that wasn't him. He was horrible at magic. He was so lost in his thoughts, that he ran right into the solid chest of some random wizard. Neville flinched and stumbled back. He would have fallen, had the man not caught him. The wizard steadied him, then asked him in a gentle, caring, but amused voice "Are you uninjured? Swedish Short-Snouts are a nasty piece of work."

Neville looked up. His heart must have stopped. His brain sure did. It was _him_. Neville would recognize him anywhere. Neville wanted to smile, but stopped because it would seem strange of him. But _he_ was _here_! Talking to _him_! "I'm fine, sir." Neville said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you."

The man kindly patted his shoulder, gently maneuvering him so that Neville was looking him into the eye. "You have strong magic," the man complimented him. Neville opened his mouth to argue that it hadn't been him, when the man continued. "I'm surprised that you couldn't manage that _protego_ on your own."

Neville blushed. Then he realized something. "That was you!" it wasn't a question. The man laughed, though it wasn't a mocking sound. Neville studied the man's face: the scar, the bright green eyes, the pale skin, the sculpted figure. Everything about him seemed powerful, but soft. Like a tamed lion, or a sleeping serpent.

"I wonder…" the man said. "May I see your wand?" Neville blanched; he hadn't expected that.

"I-it was my fathers," Neville started to say, trying to explain why he didn't want to hand it over. But the man merely raised an eyebrow.

"Your father's?" the man repeated. Then he shrugged. "I understand the emotional attachment you must have to it. However, you still should possess a wand that is more suited to _you_. Acacia wood is well known to refuse to produce magic for any but their owner. The fact that you can manage any magic at all shows how exceptional you are. Imagine what you would do with your own."

Neville was torn. He always thought he could do better with a wand of his own. And yet, he didn't want to just throw away this wand. It was the only piece of his father he had left, besides the empty shell of a man at St Mungos. The man seemed to almost read his mind, becase a gentle hand rested on top of his head, and he continued in a soft voice. "I didn't say to get rid of this wand. You could always shrink it and wear it around your neck, like a charm. Keep it close."

When Neville found his voice, he whispered "Who are you?"

"My name is Sammael," the man seemed to hesitate. Then he shrugged and with a grin "Sammael Slytherin. You and I are distantly related, I suppose."

"I'm not descended from Salazar Slytherin."

"No," Sammael agreed. "But you are the heir of Godric Gryffindor. And I happen to now for a fact that the two were like brothers, in more ways than you might think."

Neville was stunned. He'd never heard that before. "Really?"

Sammael nodded. "Yes. Their children even called the other 'Uncle'." Neville's mind was blown. "Neville?" Neville looked up at him. "I understand that you have no reason to trust me, but I swear by my magic" Neville could feel the man's powerful aura flare up, and it was only then that he realized there was a Notice-Me-Not charm cast over them. "Family is important to me, more than almost anything. And I will do everything in my power, to ensure that my family, which includes you, is safe and happy." The magic took, and Neville knew he _had_ to be telling the truth. After all, you didn't just casually swear your magic on anything.

A surge of warmth spread through him. Sammael actually cared about Neville believing him enough that's he'd sworn an oath on his magic. Neville held out a hand.

"Neville, Neville Longbottom," he said as they shook hands. "But…you probably already knew that" he added sheepishly. Sammael laughed again.

"Indeed I did." He agreed happily. "Come." He turned and started walking. It took a moment for Neville to realize, and after he was quick to follow. He had to jog to keep up with the regal man's long gait.

"Where are we going, er, Mr. Slytherin—I mean—Lord Slytherin?" Neville asked him shyly. Sammael frowned.

"Would you like me to call you Heir Longbottom?" he asked. Neville hurriedly shook his head, 'no'. "Then you may call me Sammael, or Mael, if you're feeling particularly casual today. And to answer your question, Neville, I thought I would take you to Ollivanders'. And after that to get ice cream."

***1047***

That night, Neville went to bed feeling better than he had in a long while. He had eaten a delicious meal at some random restaurant. A SLYTHERIN had taken him to get dinner. Before that, he'd bought him his wand. Applewood with phoenix feather. Sammael had remarked that it was a truly "Gryffindor" wand. Neville had shyly pointed out that he was in Hufflepuff house. Sammael had frowned, before asking what that had to do with anything.

The simple, confused remark made Neville practically glow inside. Every time he'd told someone he was Hufflepuff, they would sneer down their noses at them. But here was a Slytherin, an actual _bloodline Lord_ Slytherin, saying that each of the Houses were equally powerful, just with different ideals. Afterwards, during their pre-dinner ice cream, Sammael had told him story after story about Helga Hufflepuff, and how she was a powerful duelist, a talented healer, and a prodigy at Herbology. Neville had asked him how he knew all these stories, and Sammael had simply shrugged, saying that as Salazar's heir, he had access to all of Salazar's journals.

Though Neville didn't think he was lying, there had been time when it seemed like Sammael was remembering these stories first hand. Then Neville had audibly laughed at himself (much to Sammael's amusement) at the outlandish thought.

After errands and during that wonderful dinner, Neville told him about his love of Herbology, to which Sammael treated him with a funny story about Godric Gryffindor (THE GODRIC GRYFFINDOR) accidently locking himself in Helga's greenhouse with a newly planted batch on Mandrakes and unruly Devil's Snare, as well as angry Thorny Rose Vines. He'd been out there screaming his head off before Helga had noticed him out there. Then she'd been too busy laughing at the sight of him hanging upside down, clutching his ears with thorns sticking out of his rear end to let him out. Salazar and Rowena had joined in with Helga's laughter, much to Godric's fury.

Though they'd all had a good laugh once Salazar's eldest son had the sense to let his 'Uncle God' down.

Neville admired his new wand, while feeling his father's, which Sammael had attached to a pretty gold chain around his neck. For the first time in a long time, he felt loved. He knew it was odd, but Sammael just felt like _family_. The the big brother he'd never been given, or the uncle he'd always been meant to have. More like a family than Gran had ever been. Sammael had rarely brought up Neville's father all evening, and had never once compared the two of them.

He'd simply enjoyed Neville's company for the sake of Neville. Not because he was the Prophecy Child, or the son of Frank and Alice Longbottom. But because he was "Neville, my extremely distant but no less beloved cousin".

Sammael had promised to visit, so that Neville could show him his green house. As the boy drifted off, he dreamed that Sammael would take him away from Longbottom Manor, never to return. And he slept deeply, with a smile on his face.


	4. Chapter 4

Augusta Longbottom was many things, but _stupid_ wasn't one of them. She knew that Neville wasn't the Prophecy child. She'd hoped, oh how she hoped, that some honor would come from the Longbottom Line. She'd been so proud when Frank had made Auror, then married a respectable pureblood wife, even if she was just a Prewitt. When their first born had been a son, and then she'd heard the prophecy, she was sure it was finally time for the Longbottoms to take the spot light.

But then Frank and Alice had been attacked. Now they were babbling in St Mungos, insane. And _she'd_ been left to rear up Neville as the Potter child was hailed as the Boy-Who-Lived, Vanquisher of Voldemort. Years passed, and Neville showed _no signs_ of accidental magic. Not once until he was bodily thrown out an upper story window. When Hogwarts rolled around and Harry Potter was a no show, Neville suddenly became the "Prophecy Child", since the Boy-Who-Lived was missing. Possibly dead. Of course, at first People simply assumed that the Prophecy had already been completed, since Voldemort had vanished. That is, until Voldemort was supposedly spotted by Neville just before managing to steal something called the Philosopher's Stone.

Then people started asking why Neville was in Hufflepuff, and why his grades were so low, and why he hadn't been able to stop Voldemort from stealing the stone. Augusta had hired tutors, all of them saying that the boy was hopelessly incompetent. All except his Herbology tutors, who claimed him a prodigy.

So, imagine her surprise when she read the newspaper headline the next morning.

"Prophecy Child Saves Bystanders in Diagon Alley!"

She almost spat out her tea. Neville? She quickly scanned through the passage. Supposedly, Neville had summoned up a shield, protecting himself and those around him, from the fire of a Swedish Short-Snout that was being transferred to Diagon Alley from a reserve for one Lord Goyle. Augusta rolled her eyes. That Goyle never did have two brain cells to rub together. But, not only that, but he managed to _wordlessly_ put it to sleep, allowing the Aurors to apparate away to Goyle Manor with their delivery. Then the most alarming piece of information:

"Neville Longbottom was then seen spirited away by a tall, handsome stranger from the scene of the drama. Who was this man? A tutor for our previously hopeless 'savior'? A family member? Rumors of seeing them around town the rest of the day, in various stores as well as the famous _Accellerando's_ restaurant in wizarding London."

Augusta's eyes narrowed. The boy had been taking lessons? From who? "NEVILLE! She screeched.

***1047***

Sammael was very much reminded of Godric in one Neville Longbottom. It was a little bit of everything, really. From is baggy clothing, to the bright, innocent look in his wide, baby blue eyes. Only, Neville seemed…well, a tad _quieter_ than Sammael's dear Uncle. No, the boy was downright _crushed_. Sammael had been pleased to find that, once the boy opened up, he had a delicious sense of mischievousness, as well as a healthy dose of adventure-loving. His eyes lit up when he spoke about Herbology, and his gardens. He almost _glowed_ whenever Sammael addressed him by "cousin" or complimented his knowledge on plants.

But he wasn't just knowledgeable about Herbology, oh no. He knew almost every curse, jinx, charm and it's counter. He could recite potion recipes by heart. He adored learning about magical creatures, and he had a good grasp on Divination (something that both surprised and amused Sammael, who had little faith in that particular art.) Only, Neville had never been able to "do anything right", according to the boy himself. His dismal previous wandwork could all be chalked up to using a wand that didn't like him. However, the Potions Professor at Hogwarts frightened Neville (so much so that his _boggart_ was a replica of the man scowling at him). So _obviously_ the boy would do poorly. In Care of Magical Creatures, he always messed up, because of nerves since the professor had them demonstrate in front of everybody.

And Neville's shoulder's slumped when he informed Sammael that OWLs were that year. Saying that "If I don't pass at least half of them, I'm sure Gran will disown me".

Sammael was outraged. Disownment was _the worst possible thing_ you could curse upon a child. Forget the only heir! In fact, the more Neville spoke about his 'Gran', the more Sammael felt like stealing this poor child away from her and raising him himself. He'd been pleased when Neville invited him over the next day.

It would give him the chance to slip a little something into Augusta Longbottom's afternoon tea.

***1047***

Neville had been tending to his windowsill flowers when the shrill voice of his Gran hollered up the stairs after him. He winced. She wasn't in a good mood this morning. Neville put aside his small watering can, while wondering what her reaction would be if he told her about inviting over a near complete stranger that afternoon. As he rose to answer his summoning, he looked out the window, hoping Sammael would get here soon.

He trudged down the stairs, downward into the kitchen. "Yes, Gran?" he asked, straightening his robes so that she wouldn't complain about his appearance. Gran, who sat at the head of the table, shook the morning paper at him. Neville paled when he saw the headlines. "I can explain!" he blurted out.

"So, you've taken a tutor, have you?" she snarled. "The ones _I_ paid for weren't good enough, then?" Neville shook his head, meaning to say that 'no' he hadn't taken a tutor. But Augusta only grew angrier, thinking he meant 'no', they weren't good enough. "Who is this man?" she spat out, jabbing a wrinkled finger at the picture of Sammael, which was looking down fondly at the picture of Neville, who was smiling brightly with an ice cream cone in hand.

"He's not my tutor!" Neville said desperately. "He's a friend," he tried to say. "He said he was related…"

"Oh, so he's a gold digger than?" she sneered. "Perfect. Just what we need."

"No! He isn't."

"I'll bet he's not even a true relative!"

"But—but he swore on his magic!"

"Ha! As if you would be able to recognize a faulty oath! He probably lied! There are plenty of ways to trick an oath through loopholes and double meanings! What was the _exact_ wording?"

"I, I don't know," Neville racked his brain. What was it Sammael had said? "He-he said, he cared for family more than anything. An-and that I was a part of his family now…"

"Cares for your money!" Gran rose from her chair, her face positively frightening. Her frail, thin, skeletal limbs were shaking. "You are never to see him again! Do you hear me? He's nothing but trouble!"

"He was kind to me!" Neville raised his voice, for the first time in his life. "It's not what you're thinking! Sammael's just lonely. And also, I said that he could—" just then an elf popped in.

"Tully is telling that Master Neville's company is being here" the elf said, bowing low. Then, sensing the danger in the room, promptly left. Neville seemed to shrink to half his size as Augusta turned to him.

"Company?" she hissed. "You _invited_ that _wastrel_?"

Neville started spluttering, trying to figure out what he could say to ease the situation. He couldn't have felt more relieved when Sammael walked in. For a 'wastrel' he sure looked good, with the finest silk robes money could buy, heavy white gold chains with ancient runic amulets around his neck, his hair hanging loose down his back, and an intricate snake-headed cane in his hand. What's more, there was a phoenix perched on his shoulder. Neville's eyes widened. An _actual phoenix_! Neville had only heard of one other wizard who had a phoenix: the great Albus Dumbledore.

Neville felt smug as he took in his newfound cousin. Just let his Gran try and find something wrong with him now!

She glowered at Sammael. "You!" she snapped. "Get out of my home! I won't have you here, teaching him your ways. Just look at you, with your long hair and over-the-top robes. I'll bet a family of five could live off of the money it cost to make those for a month!"

Neville's eyes widened when Sammael simply walked over to his, gracefully, with a kind smile on his scarred face. "Shall we go see the gardens, then?" he asked. Neville returned the smile tenfold as he led his cousin away. He heard Gran calling for him, but he didn't turn back. After meeting Sammael, after having had that vision for so many years, he'd found greater faith in his sight. So, he knew she wouldn't be around for much longer anyway.

***1047***

Sirius slowly plodded down the street, his pink, dry tongue hanging out of his mouth, his eyes closed. At this point, he didn't know where he was. He was so hungry, so thirsty, and he hurt so much that his brain wasn't processing anything other than the need for relief. He wasn't paying attention to where he was going, he just kept walking, because it took too much thought to find a good place to stop.

It was night, he could tell that much. He could also tell that it was warm. His paws padded over dewy grass. He could smell something cooking. He followed the scent.

***1047***

Severus Snape wouldn't call himself a forgiving man. Nor would he consider himself very _nice_. He worked for a man who the general populace considered "evil". Not only that, but he actively spied for him against the champion of the light: Dumbledore. Before that, he had quickly worked his way upward through the ranks, becoming one of Voldemort's most trusted, right up there with Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange. He was—is—one of the Death Eater's three generals.

He had never once failed the Dark Lord, until _that_ night. Dumbledore had gotten control of him. Severus had then done the unthinkable. He'd cursed the Dark Lord when his back was turned. Though that had puzzled Severus, why just set a compulsion spell to listen to a prophecy, when he could have made Severus do anything to Voldemort?

When Voldemort had declared his intention to kill the Potters, Severus begged the Dark Lord to spare Lily's life. To his relief, Voldemort had agreed. Though, paranoia had come from out of nowhere, and set in, making him doubt his Lord and Master. So, he'd run to Dumbledore. He promised anything in return for Lily's safety. Dumbledore then announced the Prophecy to his Order (which then leaked to the rest of the wizarding world) declaring it necessary to hide both the Potters and the Longbottoms.

Severus had been there, hiding in the shadows when it was Peter who became the secret keeper. But a binding spell from Dumbledore kept him from ever telling the truth, or doing anything with that knowledge.

No, Severus was _not_ a kind man. But he was loyal. So loyal that the sorting hat considered putting him in Hufflepuff. He would do anything for his Master, especially after Voldemort had forgiven him when he'd returned. Severus would also gladly die for his friends, and so it killed him to see Remus falling a part because his mate was imprisoned for a wrong he hadn't done.

However, he had smiled to himself when he read in the paper that Black had somehow escaped from Azkaban. All he had to do was figure out some way to inform his Lord and Remus without breaking his oath. His Lord had been easy, he'd simply 'forgotten' to put away his pensive (which he'd 'accidently' left in his Lord's chambers) which had the memory of being forced into taking the oath under threat of Dumbledore, who had the ability to not only administer the Kiss to Severus, but also had full authority over young Harry. Oh, the old fool thought that he'd removed the memory from Severus. But Severus had his ways. He'd hidden a copy of it, deep down where only he could access it.

And this was the memory he'd show his Lord. Lord Voldemort had seen, and understood. He'd even offered to be the one to tell the wolf, but Remus had disappeared. No one knew where he was. So, imagine Severus' surprise, and relief, to see a familiar grim wandering aimlessly across his lawn. With a smirk he speared one of the meat patties he'd been preparing for dinner on a fork, and opened his front door.

"Here, you insufferable fool" Severus called. The way that the grim's ears twitched and its nose wiggled only convinced Severus that it was, in fact, Black. He set the food down, before going back to the stove to prepare more food. From the looks of Black, he'd need a lot more before he was fully healed.

Severus was _not_ a nice man, but he was loyal to a fault. And he owed this to a certain werewolf whom he'd been forced to lie to for years.

 **Sorry this is a bit shorter. And, yes, for those of you wondering: Neville is a Dark Wizard.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry it's been a bit longer than usual since my last update. Finals are this week and next, then I'm going on vacations, so expect updates to be slower. Also, I'm currently working on three stories at once: This one, Walking Horcrux, and The Enigma of Uncle Mort. So that also slows down updates a bit. Please review, I love reading them!**

Albus was troubled by what he was reading in the Daily Prophet. Usually, he didn't put much stock into stories written by Rita Skeeter; However, this story was so outrageous he simply had to write Augusta, to verify. How on earth was Neville, the joke of the _Hufflepuffs_ , able to defend the shoppers of Diagon Ally against a dragon—albeit a baby, but still. Yet, the thing that worried Albus the most, was the mention of the "tall, handsome stranger" who "spirited away" the "hopeless savior".

Albus pulled out his writing quill and a fresh scroll. He needed to meet with Augusta, hopefully that day. Maybe this stranger was simply a tutor for Neville? Though Albus doubted it. He himself had once tried to get the boy to cast an acceptable _Expelliarmus_.

It hadn't ended well.

If _Albus Dumbledore_ wasn't able to help Longbottom, what hope did this newcomer have? None, that's what! However, there were eyewitnesses…so what had happened?

***1047***

Sammael smiled softly as he watched Neville lovingly stroke the soft underleaves of his Mandrakes, which were currently slumbering beneath the ground. Neville was excitedly going on and on about the history of Mandrakes, saying that they used to be called mandragora root. Wizards and witches of Ancient times would tie trip wires to the thick stems that connected the thick, purplish and vivid green leaves to the body. When people stumbled against them, they would pull up the young mandrakes, the screams killing the intruders instantly. As Neville spoke, Sammael thought back to Godric wanting to do something similar with Mandrakes along the border of the Dark Forest. Helga had refused, saying that it was cruel to the "poor dears".

Though, in truth, Sammael was only half listening. While his cousin prattled on, Sammael watched through the eyes of his familiar as Besnik—who'd been shrunk down to not even an eighth of his true size—was carried by Kai through an upper story window, then placed carefully on the ground before Kai swooped back outside.

"…but then the practice was banned when a king's son was killed, after he accidently pulled one up. So now they're mainly used for medicine. Normally, you're not even supposed to raise them yourself, the Ministry regulates them, but Professor Sprout—she's my Head of House—gave me permission so that…"

Besnik was no almost to the ground floor. Augusta Longbottom, her tea all but forgotten at to the side, was muttering furiously as she scribbled he quill violently against parchment. Who she was writing to, Sammael didn't know or care, though he assumed it was about him, and unflattering. Besnik stalked his prey, quietly as you please, letting the venom well up in his mouth.

"…foolish brat…Dumbledore…old fool…fancy ponce…liars the lot of them…" Augusta was practically seething, hissing through gritted teeth as her quill jabbed completely through the parchment. Sammael watched with a predatory grin as Besnik did his job, and did it well.

"Something funny, Mae?" Neville asked Sammael, noticing that his cousin was wearing a strange grin. Sammael's eyes automatically softened, his grin becoming loving when he heard the nickname, the same one his deceased cousin, Agape, had used for him.

"Not really," replied Sammael. "I'm only thinking about how you're stroking that deadly weed like it's your favorite puppy." Neville immediately raised his hackles; Sammael was amused. He wouldn't be surprised if his young cousin's animagus form was a kitten.

"They aren't weeds!" Neville insisted, whining a bit. Sammael broke into laughter, and—once he realized his cousin was only joking—Neville joined him, shaking his head. "Mae, where do you live?" Neville suddenly asked. Sammael stopped laughing.

"Hogsmeade," said Sammael. "You can come visit during the school year, I'll bet you could sneak out of that rickety old castle any time you wanted." Neville blushed at the praise, but shook his head.

"My friends, Fred and George, now they probably could," Neville grew quiet for a moment, before brightening up. "Hey, maybe I could get them to sneak me out!" then he looked shyly up at Sammael, making the older man smile fondly. "Would you like to meet them, Mae?"

"Of course," he responded immediately. "Them and any other friends of yours." Neville's grin grew impossibly wider and he moved quickly towards Sammael, his arms outstretched, before catching himself. He sat back, blushing as he pulled at this short hair with a dirt stained hand. Sammael wanted to snarl; that old witch! She's done so much harm to this poor boy's confidence, Sammael swore he would mend the boy until he stood as tall and brave as any Gryffindor.

Sammael pulled them boy into a rather muddy embrace, as both of their hands were covered in soil, and they were sitting in the earth between two plant beds. Neville tensed before relaxing, his hands fisting into the sleeves of his cousin's robes. "You're always welcome in my house. It's right next to Zonko's—I'm sure you know where that is—across from that candy store. Brick with a dark wooden roof?" Neville's face showed recognition. He'd walked past that quaint little house hundreds of times.

"We're allowed into Hogsmeade twice a month, every other weekend on Saturday and Sunday morning."

"Excellent," Sammael said honestly. "You and your friends can be over for lunch, and maybe every now and then, I can sneak you away to London for a treat, hmm?" Neville had been smiling so widely for so long, his face was starting to ache, but he couldn't hide his smile as he attacked his cousin once more, smearing even more mud on Sammael's once immaculate robes.

***1047***

They were walking back to the house, Sammael's left arm around Neville's shoulders and Neville's right wrapped around the taller man's thin waist. Neville was laughing, holding his stomach, at a prank suggestion Sammael had offered up once he'd heard that Fred and George were incurable pranksters. From Nev's stories, Sammael couldn't help but think that the twins and Uncle God would have gotten along well.

"Lemon drops, you say?" Sammael asked. "Well, I'm no expert in candy. But I'd assume they taste relatively like Jerhu's Hair Removal Tonic. Isn't one of the main ingredients extract of lemon?" Neville was laughing so hard, small snorts were exploding out of his nostrils. Though his laughter stopped suddenly as two raised voices filtered down the entrance hall. Sammael recognized Augusta's, but there was also a man's voice. The man was elderly, if Sammael had to guess, used to getting his way.

Sammael looked at Nev, putting his finger to his lip, indicating the need for silence. Neville rolled his eyes as if to say 'no duh'. Together, they lightly stepped towards the voices. "…Albus! He's down there with my grandson, teaching him who knows what kind of Dark Magic!"

"We can't just jump to that conclusion, Augusta, though I agree that we cannot rule it out."

"Who is he!" Augusta demanded. "Why suddenly show up now? Neville wouldn't even give me the upstart's name!"

Sammael looked down at Neville. Neville was shocked, to him it seemed like Sammael was giving him the choice: go in and talk to his Gran, or walk away. Neville hesitated, then pulled on Sammael's arm, leading him towards the library. Though, they were still in earshot when they heard the man say "It is awfully suspicious that this man appears, so suddenly worming his way into Neville's heart, and right after the callous murder of Harry Potter's family."

Sammael saw Neville pale. His mind was racing. Would the boy trust him after he'd learned what Sammael—or rather, Besnik—had done? He hoped so. He found that he rather liked young Neville. The Library doors swung shut behind them, silencing the voices that had followed them there. Neville turned to Sammael.

"You didn't, did you?" Neville asked, his voice firm but no louder than half a whisper. Sammael said nothing. "Mae…Did you kill those muggles?" Sammael sighed, massaging his temples. "You did…" it wasn't a question. Sammael took Neville's hand and gently lead him over to a couch, sitting the boy down then taking a seat himself at a respectful distance.

"What do you know of Harry Potter?" Sammael asked.

Neville frowned. "His parents and mine were friends. They both fought against You-Know-Who, until he killed them. Then Harry defeated the Dark Lord. Dumbledore took Harry Potter to go live with his muggle relatives, but then he disappeared. Everyone thinks he's dead."

"He is dead." Sammael said shortly. "And it's because of the muggles. You're mostly right, dear cousin. The Dark Lord did meet his fall at the hands of the Potters, but it wasn't through any supernatural power of Harry Potter, but rather his mother: Lily Potter. She cast an ancient blood ritual, using herself as the sacrifice. It protected him from the Killing Curse, causing it to rebound and strike down Voldemort" Neville flinched at the name, but Sammael continued relentlessly. "Dumbledore then left the 18 month old in a box on the door step of his magic-hating aunt and her repulsive family. They starved him. Locked him up. Beat him. Used him like a house elf. By the time he was five, he was doing nearly all of the household chores and the cooking." Neville gulped. That's even worse than what he had to deal with.

"I don't believe you" Neville lied in a breathy whisper. "That's not true…It's can't be…"

"And just why can't it?" Sammael asked, raising an eyebrow. "I swear on my magic, that this is true: Harry Potter no longer exists, and it's because of the Muggles." The magic hesitated a second, but then took. Neville could feel it. Sammael couldn't be lying.

"What happened?"

"He was five when they beat him so badly, his accidental magic teleported him far, far away. His ribs were shattered, he had a concussion, his was half blind and nearly completely starved. He was severely dehydrated. He was choking on his own blood. His internal organs were bruised and bleeding."

"How do you know this?"

"Because he apparated into the home of my family. They cared for him, but by the end of the week he was truly gone."

"You met him?" Neville asked, his eyes wide.

"I knew him well enough to hate those vile muggles with every fiber of my being. They deserved to die for doing _any_ of those things to a helpless child—forget a _magical_ child! Yes, Neville, I killed them. But can't you agree: they deserved it?"

Neville was scared. Not of Sammael, but of himself. Because he _did_ agree. He was glad that Sammael had gotten rid of those muggles. Neville couldn't get his mouth to answer, his eyes never leaving Sammael's stoic face. Though, in those glowing green eyes, Neville saw a hint of hurt and a good deal of sadness. He scooted closer to his cousin. In response, Sammael put an arm around the boy's shoulders. "They died from basilisk stare."

"They did." Sammael said. "I'll introduce you later, Besnik is actually quite friendly. And he loves children. Though, he'd taken a liking to Harry so he felt a personal grudge against the muggles who killed him."

"You have a phoenix, why couldn't you heal him?"

"Some things even a phoenix's tears can't save. A boy with no will to live is one of them."

"What do you mean?"

"Harry Potter wasn't loved. Found it hard to believe he could ever _be_ loved. He was alone, and thought he always would be. It was impressed upon him at a very young age what a 'freak' he was, how horrible he was, what a waste of space he was. He was five, Neville. He was five and already felt weary of life. Combine that with the state of his mind, body and spirit; there was no chance for him."

Neville felt guilt pool in his gut. Here he was, moping about because his life was a little rough. When the _other_ prophecy child had been murdered by the people who were supposed to love him. And the saddest thing was, nobody even knew.

"I wish you hadn't killed them," Neville said. He felt Sammael stiffen behind him. "Because right now, I really want them to feel what an angry Devil's Snare can do to a human body."

***1047***

Sirius woke up in a soft bed. The night before was a little blurry. As was many nights before that. Though, Sirius found he felt amazing. His stomach was uncomfortably full—a good thing when you'd been living off of gruel and rats for years—he was warm, thick blankets were pulled up to his chin. His many scrapes and scars and scratches no longer aches and itched, neither did his bruises. In fact, most of them were simply gone. He was clean, he felt safe, and there was a plate of pancakes on a nearby end table, accompanied by a tall glass of milk and a banana. Sirius sat up, just then realizing that he was wearing silky pajamas (Slytherin Green, ugh). He snatched up the milk and downed half of it in a single gulp, then he picked up a sticky pancake and shoved then entire thing into his mouth, before licking his fingers and groaning in bliss.

"I did leave a set of utensils for you, Black."

Sirius froze and the familiar voice. Familiar, yes, but not the same. It was deeper, smoother, and sounding much more amused than he'd ever heard it. He whipped around, a canine-like growl already on his lips. "Snivilis…" He stopped when Severus only raised an eyebrow and held up the plate of bacon like a peace offering. "What?"

In response, Severus shoved a strip of the crispy bacon into Sirius' open mouth, then closed said mouth with a slender finger gently pushing up his dropped chin. "Eat, then we'll talk. There's a lonely werewolf who needs an explanation. I've Versitrasum if Remus finds it necessary, for your information" he said, putting the plate down where Sirius could easily reach the mountain of greasy meat. The smell was amazing, and almost overpowering. Sirius tore into it, despite still feeling full from whatever he ate the night before. Sirius groaned again, this time half because of pain. He was going to throw up, then continue eating, Sirius thought to himself happily.

Severus had taken a seat on the edge of Sirius' bed, looking highly amused. A cup of coffee was now cradled in his hands, half drunk. Sirius reached over just as Severus was about to take another sip, grabbing the mug and taking a draft of the scalding liquid. "Ahhh!" he sighed. It had been so long since he had coffee. Severus sighed in mock longsuffering.

"You could have just asked for your own cup, Black."

"Actually, I prefer it with cream, if you don't mind?"

Severus rolled his eyes before crossing his legs. Sirius had made a serious dent in the pile of bacon, before he finally slowed and turn to the Potion Master. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why help me? You hate me?"

"I don't hate you?" Severus said, his face never changing even when Sirius looked disbelievingly at him. "I just really, really _really_ don't like you. However, I consider Remus a good friend. One of the only ones I have left. I'm not doing this for you, Black. I'm doing it because I can't stand to see my friend slowly waste away pining for you. I'm under Oath, Black, I'm magically bound. I wasn't able to testify for your innocence, nor was I allowed to tell anyone, nor release you myself. However _you_ are under no such restrictions. I'm sure that Lucius will be willing to help clear your name; he never did like Pettigrew."

"Lucius? Lucius Malfoy? And you're friends with Remy?" Sirius' head was spinning. Oh god, he was going to throw up. A steadying hand was then on his shoulder, and a bottle was pressed to his lips. Sirius drank on instinct, and immediately his stomach settled.

"Yes, Lucius Malfoy," said Severus, stepping back. "Who else?"

"Why would he help me, I'm Light!" Sirius barked out.

"Still?" Severus asked, disbelief all over his face. "Even after Dumbledore left you to rot for these fifteen years? Even after it was _he_ who orchestrated the death of James? Of Lily? When it was that _BASTARD_ who left poor Harry to suffer at the hands of magic-hating muggles?! James and Lily died at the hands of his scheming and Harry by his negligence! My Lord did not go to Godric Hollow of his own free will, Black, I can promise you that!"

"…my pup is dead?"

The angry, fierce look in Severus' eyes was extinguished at once, replaced by true sorrow. "I'm sorry, Sirius," Severus said softly, using the other man's name for the first time in both their lives. "I'm so, so sorry. I looked for the boy, I swear I did. Dumbledore hid him well, from the magic world anyway. But then he never came to Hogwarts, and Dumbledore sent me to retrieve him, only to find he 'ran away' six years before that, according to the muggles. Though the last memory the Uncle had of young Harry…" Severus's face was blotched with angry red patches. "he was beating the child…viciously…with a club…"

Sirius clutched his heart, which was pounding so hard, it actually hurt. "No…" he sobbed. "No, no, not puppy…oh puppy, I'm sorry…" he was openly weeping now, his hands desperately clutching Severus' robes, his head on his ex-rival's shoulder. It was only through a great show of will that Severus did not join him in his grief.

"Severus, I got your letter! Where are you?" A voice called out, and startled them both. Then there was a gasp. "Sirius?" The two men turned to see the haggard looking werewolf in the doorway.

Sirius, still sobbing, rushed for his mate with a cry, flinging himself in Remus' arms. "I'm sorry. All my fault. All my fault. So stupid…I'm so stupid. Our poor puppy…little pup…my pup…oh Harry."

"What—what's going on?" Remus looked to Severus for explanation while holding Sirius tightly in his arms.

"I cannot say," Severus drawled cryptically before sweeping past them, out of the room.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you all for your reviews! Your continued support is what prompts me to write. Just a heads up though, I will be driving for several days starting Friday, so I don't know when my next update will be. Hope you all enjoy this next chapter!**

It's amazing what one, tiny drop of basilisk venom can do. Venom from the King of Serpents changes as the Great Snake ages. At birth, a drop of its poison can cause paralysis. At ten years, it can cause extreme hallucinations. At thirty, it causes instant insanity. At fifty or so, it becomes like the strongest acid, and so on and so forth. By the time a basilisk is a thousand years old, a single drop is enough to kill a full grown dragon.

Of course, Besnik is no where _near_ a thousand years old. In fact, he was barely thirteen. But this was old enough to suit Sammael's purposes. As Augusta muttered and murmured to herself angrily, the snake crawled up a table leg and opened its fanged mouth over Lady Longbottom's tea cup. It took all of half a second for a drip of venom to _splat_ in the cup, and for Besnik to drop back to the floor before the old woman saw him.

She was going to die for what she put Neville through. But first, she was going to suffer. Oh, how she was going to suffer. Dumbledore was the one to witness her first hallucination. Dumbledore was demanding to know who Sammael was, and Augusta was screeching that it was that "long haired ponce" who killed the Dursleys, when her face suddenly turned white.

There, in the corner, was Frank. Anger and loathing poured off of him in tangible waves. Augusta trembled. She'd never seen her gorgeous, talented, loving son this way. _It's all your fault_ , he told her. His mouth was moving, he was practically spitting out the words, but no sound fell from his lips. He raised his wand to her, his eyes going red, his whole being trembling with rage. _I'm no son of yours._

Augusta let out a wail and dropped to her knees, her breath coming out in wrenching gasps. Her gnarled, claw-like fingers tore at her fake hair, her eyes were wide and bulging as she stared at the corner of the room.

The corner of the room…that was empty.

Dumbledore was confused as to what was wrong with the old witch. One moment, she was her perfectly despicable self, the next she was clutching her old chest like she was having a heart attack. "Augusta," Dumbledore said hesitantly. "Let me call a healer for you; I'll deal with your grandson."

Augusta was about to refuse, when she caught sight of her long dead husband swinging from the rafters, a rope around his neck, his feet twitching, his face blue and bloodless. She fainted dead away.

***1047***

Neville was feeling rather conflicted.

He'd always been taught, by Dumbledore, that Muggles weren't evil. Muggles simply didn't understand the ways of magic. Muggles never meant any harm. He'd always been told that some magic was good, some magic was evil. He'd also always been told that he was no good at magic, that he was a disgrace to wizarding kind. Barely better than squibs like Filch.

That afternoon with Mae changed everything. He'd found that some Muggles _were evil_. And that nearly all Muggles didn't just 'not understand' magic, but loathed it. And Muggle who met with wizards usually _did_ mean harm. And also, he discovered that 'dark' magic was no more _evil_ than the color green. Fiendfyre for example, was well known to be a dark spell. But Sammael cast it, to Neville initial horror, in the library as they sat together on the couch. Neville had jumped up, ready to run away, but Sammael's amused bark of laughter had stopped him.

He was fine, with a beautiful tiny dragon made of fire curling around his wrist, fluttering it's gorgeous golden red wings.

"It's like a Patronus," Sammael had smiled at him. "Only, instead of happy thoughts, you need to focus on a different emotion. It's different for everybody. You need to find the one that suits you, the one that consumes you."

"Does it repel dementors?"

"Little one, it repels everything."

Neville had laughed at this, before tilting his head thoughtfully. "What emotion do you use?"

Sammael smiled and Neville recognized a tinge of bitter longing in his bright green eyes. "Love." Sammael said simply, his voice soft as phoenix down and as brittle as glass. "I remember the day I realized my Papa truly loved me. The day I was adopted. I felt so, so very loved. It's, actually, also the memory I used to first conjure my Patronus, because feeling so loved made me feel incredibly happy."

Neville felt a twinge of jealousy. He'd never had that. Then he looked at Sammael, and something seemed to fall into place in his mind. Maybe he _could_ have had that, had things gone differently. Had Sammael taken him in after his parents went insane, instead of Gran. Longing, painful but sweet longing filled him. He wanted a family, more than anything. On an impulse, he whispered the incantation. Sammael looked alarmed, after all _Fiendfyre_ was the most uncontrollable spell the dark had at its disposal.

But then a large, flaming wild boar stepped out from his wand, snorting and tossing it's head, shaking itself. Sammael's face lit up with pride. Neville felt some undefinable feeling in him rise up when he saw that. No one had ever been proud of him, not like this. Sammael was practically preening. "Never, in all my years!" Sammael beamed. "And on your first try to! It took me a week and I burned down half of our local forest before I got it right! And a boar, too!"

"What does it mean?" Neville asked as he nervously bent to pet the piggy. It felt comfortable warm to his skin.

"Power, leadership, luck, family," Sammael shook his head. "Wealth, healing, protection and there's more, I just can't remember. But you," Sammael waggled an elegant finger at him. "You, my little Nevvy, are one powerful wizard. Don't let anyone tell you differently."

Nev wanted to dance around. He _did_ feel powerful, for the first time in his life. As soon as he cast that spell, he had a rush, a high, and he felt like he could do anything. How could magic this beautiful, he thought as he gazed in wonder at his piggy, be evil? Magic wasn't evil, he decided. It just had varying levels of power. And for the weak who didn't understand true power, it seemed scary, evil. Just like Muggle who saw _any_ magic. He had a sudden flashback to when he'd met Voldemort in his first year.

"And why do you want to stop me?" Quirrel/Voldemort asked. "Once I have regained power, I can cure your parents. It would be simple, really."

"B-but you're evil!" eleven-year-old Neville had squeaked, trembling.

Quirrel had only smiled before reaching into Neville's pocket and pulling out a ruby red stone, that hadn't been there a few minutes ago. "There is no good or evil, boy." The man had said, tossing the stone lightly into the air and catching it against with flourish. "Only power, and those too weak to seek it."

As horrible as he felt for doing so, he mentally conceded that Voldemort was right. Neville frowned now, his boar disappearing. He'd often wondered why Voldemort hadn't killed him, instead he was kit with a mild _stupifey_ , and had woken up in the Hospital wing an hour or so later. "Is You-Know-Who evil?" he blurted out suddenly.

***1047***

Sammael was pleased. Today had been most productive. Augusta was on her way to insanity, Neville was _obviously_ a Dark Wizard, he was doubting Dumbledore, he was extremely powerful, he trusted Sammael more than his own grandmother, cast his first dark spell, and now was even going so far as to wonder if the man he was supposedly destined to kill, was really evil at all.

"Who?" Sammael asked with an innocent, blank look.

Neville rolled his eyes. " _You-Know-Who_ "

"No, I don't," Sammael said, his lips twitching. He was having a hard time keeping back his grin. Neville snorted in frustration and plopped down on the couch next to Sammael. He was surprised, delightedly so, when gentle fingers started running through his hair as a long arm pulled him close. He could feel Sammael's steady heart beat against his back.

"You're a prat," Neville muttered, his eyes closing as he relaxed.

"I don't believe so."

"Don't believe you're a prat? Or don't believe he's evil?"

"Neither," there was hidden laughter in Sammael's voice. Neville rolled his eyes while shifted backwards to get more comfortable, marveling how easy it was to relax in this man's presence. "As far as I can tell, he was fighting for creature rights, and the right to use Dark Magic. From what you tell me, he wasn't fighting for the restriction of Light magic. After all, _stupifey_ is supposedly a light spell." Neville's eyes widened.

"Than why does everyone think he is evil…and my parents they…"

"They were on the opposite side of the war," Sammael finished in a gentle murmur, still running his finger through Neville's soft hair. He didn't want to drive the young boy away, but he wanted Neville on the right side. He didn't this _Dumbledore_ to be able to use him anymore. "I'm not saying what He did was good, or right, by any definition of the word. Only that it's understandable. Think of it this way, if Voldemort had killed Dumbledore, but there was a chance that he was still alive, and then your parents caught one of Voldemort's men, would your parents have been above torture to find out where Dumbledore was?"

Neville did know for sure, so he said nothing.

"I'm very sorry about your parents, Neville. I'm sure that they were wonderful people. They had to have been, to have a son like you." Neville flushed. "However, I do believe that they were on the wrong side of the war, through no fault of their own. I've read the drivel that Dumbledore spews. He's a very convincing idiot."

Just then, the library doors opened to reveal said idiot. Neville tensed, but Sammael was still relaxed, he realized. The older man's fingers were still tenderly carding through his hair. Neville tried to calm his racing heart, but he couldn't. He subtly gripped Sammael's robes with one of his hands.

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at the pair. A Grandfatherly smile was on his lips. Neville felt the familiar feel of prodding against his mind as those blue eyes twinkled. He struggled to keep the old man out, for the first time. He wanted to bury his face in Sammael, so that the old man couldn't reach his thoughts. He was fighting a losing battle, not able to tear his face away, when a new presence in his mind silently and carefully put up walls. Dumbledore was no longer smiling.

"Who are you?" he tried to ask with forced politeness, though it came out too harshly. Sammael ignored him, staring into the fireplace, humming softly. "Who are you?" Dumbledore asked again, his voice firmer. Compulsion layered his tones. Neville nervously glanced at his cousin, who still looked unconcerned.

"I am Sammael, if you must know," Sammael said smoothly. "Now, please leave us in peace. I was having such an enjoyable time with my dear cousin."

"According to Augusta," Dumbledore said. "You're no cousin of the Longbottoms," he then turned to Neville without giving Sammael a chance to respond. Though Neville noticed that, from Sammael face, the Slytherin wouldn't have responded anyway. "Speaking of, I'm sorry to say that your grandmother has suffered from a severe heart attack, she'll be fine. But I've just taken her to St Mungos."

"How unfortunate," Sammael stood, offering a hand to help Neville up. "Well, I suppose we should go visit her, then I'll take you home. No one should have to stay in _this_ dreary place all alone. Or maybe we can visit muggle London, I'm curious about the city." Neville smiled at his cousin, knowing that the blatant ignoring of Dumbledore would drive the old man up a wall. And, apparently, Mae did too.

"Could we just go straight to your house?" Neville asked.

Sammael grinned. "Of course. Actually, that's a very good idea. I can have our elves whip up something. I'm starving." He patted his flat stomach dramatically as he steered Neville towards the Library doors.

"Now wait just a moment!" Dumbledore demanded. Sammael could tell that the old coot was having a hard time keeping the grandfatherly act in tact. "You are _not_ related to Neville, and therefore have no right to take him away or keep him from his grandmother."

"Hmm, damned paperwork," Sammael muttered. "I'm sorry, Nevvy, but it looks like we'll have to stop by Gringott's first."

"And just what do you think that will do?" Dumbledore asked, a furious look on his face.

Sammael pretended to think about this for a moment. "Hmm, I'm thinking that it will legally make Neville my heir. But, then again I could be wrong."

With that, Sammael led Neville out of the Library and down the hall at a slightly faster pace than normal. He wanted out of the house as fast as possible. As they passed the door to Augusta's sitting room, Sammael knelt and picked something up off the floor, Neville couldn't see what, before walking into the entrance hall, then opening the door.

Once outside, Sammael put his arms around his cousin, getting ready to apparate them both to Hogsmeade. Neville was able to take one last glance at the old manor. He desperately hoped he'd never live there again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys! Sorry it's been a while. Traveling is** ** _not_** **an ideal time to write. As of right now, I am on a bus headed towards San Diego from out of Amarillo, Texas. I will try to update a tad more frequently, but, as always, no promises. On to the story!**

 **R &R!**

Gringotts was as impressive as Neville remembered. The tall, marble building standing proud against the otherwise rather dirty, crowded and small structures of Diagon Alley. They apparated right into the middle of the walk in front of the bank, Neville would have stumbled if not for the strong arms holding him up. Sammael's face was grave; he seemed to be deep in thought. Neville followed him as his "cousin" led the way into Gringotts. His mouth dropped open in shock when he saw the goblins either bow or nod to him respectfully.

Sammael approached a goblin at a high desk. "Fair noon," Sammael greet politely. "I've need to see one Griphook concerning the naming of my heir." The goblin nodded as he beckoned a younger goblin over with one crooked, gnarled talon.

"He shall see you shortly," the goblin said. "Murkeye, show Lord Slytherin to a meeting room." The younger goblin nodded to the elder, then bowed to the wizards. They were ushered through the decorative halls, deeper into the bank, passed anywhere that Neville had ever seen before. Gradually, the carpets and decorations became more grand, fitting for a palace. Eventually, Murkeye opened a large, looming set of oak double doors where a low table surrounded by comfortable seats were.

Murkeye beckoned them into the room. "Griphook shall be with your shortly, Master Wizards," he said quietly before backing out of the room. After the doors swung shut, Neville flopped himself down onto one of the seats. Sammael took a place next to him.

"Is this alright with you, Neville?" Sammael asked, softly. Neville turned to him. The scarred face looked pensive, the emerald eyes were clouded and stormy.

"Of course," the boy said. "I know you said that we're already family, but this'll really make it official" Neville's voice, already quiet, dwindled down to a mumbled whisper as his face flushed. It was finally happening. After all those years of tantalizing visions of a better life, his savior was finally here. True, he wasn't being adopted. But being named heir was the next best thing. Since, as an heir, an entire line depended upon them for the continuing of the family, a Head of the family became a partial guardian over their heir. They were able to step in if they saw a situation the heir was in as dangerous, or if they thought the current guardians were unfit, they were able to contest for custody.

From now on, Sammael might as well be his godfather.

***1047***

Sammael had discovered, the last time he was in Gringotts, just who he really was. He wasn't sure whether to feel surprised or resigned that he, himself, was Harry Potter. He found it ironic that he, the "eldest" son of Salazar Slytherin was one of the two remaining heirs of Godric. He found it sad that there was a prophecy saying that he and "Voldemort" were destined to destroy each other. He resolved in himself that he'd never, ever raise his wand against his father's descendent. Yes, he would protect innocents caught in Voldemort and Dumbledore's crossfire, but he was neutral in this so called "war".

All he cared about was ensuring that both the Gryffindor and Slytherin lines survived the conflict. However, once he'd learned that Dumbledore had been the one to condemn him to a life with the Muggles that had tortured him, he decided that, while he wasn't on Voldemort's side, he was very much anti-"light". He barely considered Dumbledore a Light Wizard at all. After all, Light Wizards and Witches were like Helga, who dedicated their lives to healing, restoration, and the like. Dumbledore was a scheming manipulator. He tore down ancient rituals, rites and traditions all because they were supposedly "evil". The man was actively destroying magic.

But then there was Neville to worry about, now. True, Neville no longer trusted Dumbledore, nor was he convinced of Voldemort's evil-ness. However he was still a boy, and Sammael had no idea how he'd react to finding out that Sammael was, in fact, Harry Potter. Would it be better to tell him sooner? Or later?

Sammael watched the boy fidget in his seat as they waited for Griphook. Such a powerful dark wizard. It was amazing how little his magic had been damaged, despite being repressed for so long. But Sammael swore that he'd get the child up to his full potential before school started in the fall. Who knows? Maybe Sammael would be able to get him excited about Quidditch? It occurred to Sammael he hadn't told his "cousin" about how it was invented. Neville would like that story, Sammael thought to himself.

Just then, the doors opened, revealing Griphook the goblin. Sammael rose, Neville copying him, and bowed deeply to the goblin who returned the gesture. "May you bathe in the blood of your enemies, Lord Slytherin."

"And may your coffers ever flow with gold, Master Goblin," Sammael smiled at him. "You have been informed of my wishes?"

"I have," the goblin said as they all took a seat. He snapped his fingers and a self-inking quill appeared, along with several scrolls of contracts and a bottle of melted wax. "You are aware of all that is involved?"  
"I am," Sammael agreed, taking a scroll that was offered him by Griphook. He opened it and hurriedly scanned the page, before nodding, seeing that all was in order. He picked up the quill and signed his name with a flourish. He then handed it to Neville. He was so excited, his hands were shaking. Still, he managed to scratch out his name. No sooner had he finished, then did the scroll roll itself up and fly into Griphook's waiting hand.

"Now, the Ancient Laws of Slytherin house dictate that no person may enter the line without the proper blood" Griphook said solemnly, and Neville's heart sunk as the goblin spoke. "This includes heir naming. However, blood adoption has always been held sacred in the Slytherin's, as you well know, Lord Sammael," Sammael gave a deep not, acknowledging this. "And so, with the boy's consent, as he is passed the required age of fifteen, the ritual may take place."

"Isn't blood adoption illegal?" Neville asked.

"Very," Griphook said with a malicious smile. "But, rest assured, we goblins are in no way subject to your ministry. You've nothing to worry about." Griphook produced a knife from a pouch that was tied about his waist. "What say you?"  
There was no more hesitation as Neville gave his consent.

***1047***

Neville groaned softly as he shifted in his new bed, in his new room, in Sammael's house. The house was cozy and warm, with gentle greys and greens as the main colors, but with silver and even gold thrown in here and there. His room had golden curtains and bed clothes, as well as a cheery yellow sun painted on his sky blue walls. He supposed the yellow was supposed to stand for his school house. Neville smiled, despite his sore body, at how his new Head of House seemed pleased to find he was in Helga Hufflepuffs' quarter of the school. Most people either laughed or shook their heads sympathetically when they found out. It was nice.

The blood adoption had left him feeling like a piece of taffy that had been pulled too far. He didn't look very different. His skin was a bit more olive in complexion, though he was much tanner than Mae, since his cousin never spent any time outside, and Neville practically lived in his gardens and greenhouses. Speaking of which, Sammael had promised to help move some of his plants into the greenhouse that was attached to their small cottage in Hogsmeade. It was weird to be in the small village in the summer.

Neville's blue eyes were a tad clearer, deeper, almost violet. And his hair had become thicker, more healthy looking. Sammael had ruffled his hair, exclaiming that Neville should grow it out. Some of his baby fat had melted, making his facial features more defined. His work hardened muscled limbs were no longer pudgy, either. Sammael told him that excessive baby fat ran in the Gryffindor line, while Slytherin's tended to be willowy and lithe. Now, Neville was a strange, but not unpleasant, combination of the two.

After the heir naming process, Sammael had apparated them back to this house. He'd offered Neville dinner, but he was too tired to eat anything. So, Sammael had shown him up the stairs and into this room. With a wave of his wand, Neville's robes were transfigured into nightclothes. It had been years since Neville had been taken care of like that; Gran had stopped as soon as he'd been old enough to care for himself. And she had never, ever tucked him in, which Sammael did. Neville pretended to be embarrassed, and half-heartedly protested when Sammael lightly kissed him on the brow, but inwardly, he was feeling halfway in between touched and relieved.

He'd always wondered what having a father would have been like. Perhaps this was it.

***1047***

The morning three days later, Sammael found the papers very interesting. Various headlines caught his eyes: " _Lord Black's Name Cleared! Is Dumbledore to Blame?"; "Malfoy Summer Ball, Guess Who's Coming!"; "'Chosen One' Chosen as Heir?"_. But one stood out, making him smirk. _"New Lord Slytherin Uncovered! New Dark Lord Rising?"_ He read through that passage, giggling outright when the paper's writer wondered if "the new Slytherin Lord" was behind the murder of the Dursleys.

Besnik flicked his tongue at the paper. _"_ _ **What's so funny**_?" he asked.

" ** _It seems we have been discovered, old friend,"_** Sammael told his familiar. Kai, who was seated on a perch, looked over towards him in interest. **_"It's only a matter of time before we are called to claim our Wizemgot seats, or asked to attend some senceless…"_** Sammael trailed off as an official looking owl soared in through the open window, dropping a letter in front of him. Sammael sighed dramatically just as Neville came into the room.

"What is it?" the boy asked curiously.

Sammael smiled at him. "I was just telling Besnik that it was only a matter of time before we're summoned by important idiots. Then this came in." Sammael pointed at the letter like it was a piece of particularly revolting trash. Neville smiled at him, then he frowned, noticing the wax seal that was on the outside of the envelope.

"What is it, Little Lion?" Sammael asked, casually trying out a variation of Salazar's old pet name for him, and deciding that he liked it. Neville flushed slightly, but then he pointed at the envelope.

"It's from the Malfoy's," Neville explained. "Staunch supporters of You-Know-Who, the epitome of everything pureblood, filthy rich, all that good stuff. Their son, Draco, he's a Slytherin in my year. We don't really interact much, but Draco's really vocal about his hatred of Light families."

"We're not exactly light, Little Lion," Sammael pointed out dryly. Neville grinned a bit. Sammael picked it up and pulled out the letter. It was an official invitation to the Summer Ball. "Well, it seems like as good an opportunity as any to establish my place in the pureblood community, and put the rumors to rest about you being my heir. By the way, how on earth did the Daily Prophet get word of that? It was a very private affair and the goblins certainly didn't tell."

Neville shrugged as he stroked Besnik's smooth scales. The basilisk had taken an immediate liking to the boy, and soon enough the feeling was mutual. "I don't know, but that Skeeter woman keeps messing up your name." Sammael winced.

"How she got 'Steve' out of 'Sammael' I will _never_ understand." Neville laughed as he sat down. The house elves immediately set about giving him breakfast. "Does your grandmother usually attend these balls?"

"No," said Neville. "We're never invited. The Malfoys don't want to be seen with the Light's 'savior' or his grandmother," Neville rolled his eyes as he speared a piece of fruit. "Why?"

"Just wondering. Since you are my only heir, it's only appropriate for me to take you along. Don't you agree, Little Lion?" Neville smiled at him.

***1047***

Lord Voldemort stared at his copy of the Daily Prophet in disbelief. Both he and the Light had been searching for the one who murdered Potter's muggle relatives, and it is _Rita Skeeter_ who manages to uncover news of one "Steve Slytherin", supposed Lord of the Slytherin Line. Lucius had brought him in this copy of the paper. Voldemort had been pleased to find that Lucius had already sent out an invitation to "Lord Slytherin" to attend the Summer Ball.

However, he was doubting that much of what was in the article was true. After all, why on earth would a Slytherin claim _Longbottom_ as his heir? The boy was useless!


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey! It's been forever! Sorry it's taken so long, I was in Mexico and my service doesn't stretch that far, xD. I was, like, going into writing withdrawl all that time. Thanks to those of you who reviewed while I was away, I hope you all still like my stories and where they're going! I can see that more of you like this one than the other one, kinda sad about that because the other one is more fun to write, but I suppose it IS kinda….busy…compared to this one.**

 **May the gods be ever in your favor**

 **~James**

Days passed like a dream. The summer was warm, the house was secluded…and he was home. Sirius found himself wondering if he'd really left Askaban at all, if he hadn't gone completely bonkers, if Remus wasn't really here with him curled around his skeletal, unlovely body in their soft bed.

Their soft bed in _SEVERUS'_ house no less.

At first it slightly bothered Sirius that his bond mate had his own guest bedroom in his childhood rival's house, but after several meals painstakingly prepared by the Potion's Master and several more conversations with Severus and Remus, Sirius found that his old "enemy" wasn't as much of a slimy snake as he originally thought.

It was thanks to Severus, after all, that he had back his freedom, his fortune, and his furry lover. It had been three days since he'd gotten his name cleared and been declared Lord of the once thought doomed house of Black. If Sirius wanted to, he was now free to make a home for himself and his mate on one of his many properties. However, for some reason, Sirius felt reluctant to leave.

He wasn't exactly sure where this reluctance came from. Sirius yawned and nuzzled his face down deeper into Remus' neck, sighing contentedly, deeply breathing in the scent of woodland, moist earth and coffee. Remus' arms tightened around his middle, his chin resting on the back of Sirius' hair. A knock on the door made Sirius blearily raise his head. Severus was standing there, arms crossed, in the door way. Not being able to resist the temptation, Sirius childishly stuck his nose in the air, then flopped back down on his side, facing away from the Potions Master. Remus huffed out a surprised grunt from the force of Sirius dropping all of his weight on him.

If Severus was amused by his –dare he say it—friend's antics, he only showed it by the slight twitching of one cheek. But that small sign didn't go unnoticed by the werewolf who was now fully away, nose twitching at the smells of cinnamon rolls and omelets wafting in from the kitchen.

"It's nearly ten o'clock," Severus announced in a patronizing manner, as if the two 'dunderheads' couldn't read the clock that was sitting not three feet away on the dresser. "If you two decide to get up sometime before noon, breakfast is waiting for you. And let's not forget, Black, that you've yet to write your RSVP to the Malfoys for the Summer Gala." At this, Sirius muttered something that was muffled and mad unintelligible by the pillows.

"C'mon, Siri," said Remus, who had somehow understood his mate. "You owe it to Lucius to at least show up, grab some food and make small talk. You wouldn't have to stay for long. Just long enough to thank him in person." Sirius mumbled something else, which made both Severus and Remus roll their eyes. Remus pushed Sirius off of him, deftly transporting the animagus onto the cold floor. Sirius yelped, sounding very much like an actual dog for a moment, leaping up off the floor. Remus paid him no mind, instead stretching languidly as Sirius massaged his now sore behind, glaring at him. "Those cinnamon rolls smell heavenly, Severus. Thank you."

"Any bacon?" Sirius asked. Remus chuckled as he dragged himself out of bed. Severus only raised an eyebrow.

"What kind of host would I be if I forgot to feed the dog?" Severus asked. Sirius beamed at him, throwing a fist in the air before tackling the other man in a grateful, almost giddy, hug, before tearing out of the room in search of his breakfast.

***1047***

Dumbledore knew without a doubt that the newly discovered Slytherin would be attending the Malfoy's gala next week. He also knew without a doubt that he wouldn't be receiving and invitation himself. However, there was a chance that Sirius Black would be getting one, as Lord Black. If he played his cards right, there was a chance that he could convince Sirius to take him as a guest.

Though he was starting to feel very concerned. It had been a while now since Sirius Black's name was cleared, with help from Lucius Malfoy no less, and Sirius was yet to contact him in anyway. Not by owl, Patronus nor Floo. According to Severus, his ever loyal Potion Master who was friends with Remus, he hadn't even attempted to contact his old friend. How could so many things be going wrong? Dumbledore sighed to himself. First that Longbottom brat gets that mysterious tutor, then he is named _Slytherin's heir_ while his grandmother descends into insanity. Sirius's name is cleared, therefore becoming a potential guardian for Harry Potter in the unlikely event that the Boy Who Lived should ever reappear. And now, said potential guardian (who also happens to be one of the wealthiest men in wizarding Britain, second only to Lord Slytherin himself) appears to be going Dark.

Dumbledore popped a lemon drop into his mouth as he steadied himself. He was going to stop by Grimmauld Place, Sirius' childhood home, to see if the ex-convict had taken refuge there.

***1047***

Neville screamed as another blow came racing towards his stomach. It knocked the breath out of him, causing him to stumble back, falling down. He landed on his side, curling up into a tight blow to try and minimize the area that his assailant could reach. Blows rained down on him, leaving him gasping.

"N-no! P-p-p-please!" Neville weakly begged, pleading.

His attacker huffed out a gruff laugh. "Some Gryffindor you are," he said with a grin.

Neville screeched as the man standing over him tossed his weapon to the side, instead choosing to pick up the boy and tossing him onto his unmade bed. Sammael picked the pillow he had been attacking his cousin with back up, then leaped onto the bed after him. "MAE!" Neville wailed through his laughter. "S-STOP!" Sammael roared in laughter. Neville grabbed his own pillow, which had been abandoned a few minutes ago in favor of trying to shield himself from his guardian's blows, and returned fire.

A popping noise alerted them to the fact that they were no longer alone. Still slightly laughing, they both looked up at the house elf, who was looking slightly nervous at interrupting his masters. "Zurry bes sorry for interrupting, Masters,"

"S'okay, Zurry," Neville, the sweet thing, was quick to reassure him. Sammael smiled fondly at the boy, before turning to the elf as he stood up from the bed.

"What is it?" Sammael asked.

"Young Masters guests is being here, Master."

"Show them in!" Sammael said with a smile. He was looking forward to meeting his ward's friends after hearing so much about them. Neville was practically bouncing with excitement as he hurried to go stand in front of a mirror and straighten out his ruffled hair and clothes. He turned to face Sammael.

"How do I look?" he asked.

"Like you just got your rear handed to you by an old man," Sammael teased. Neville only grinned. "Go ahead, I'll be down in a moment." Neville bobbed his head as he almost pranced out of the room.

***1047***

Luna and Cedric were waiting in the living room of the cozy house. Luna was wearing some kind of muggle, denim overall jumper, and a neon yellow short sleeve shirt. Her long blond hair was tied back in a rather messy bun, secured with…what looked like vines. Neville smiled when he saw that. Cedric was dressed less eccentrically in a traditional light overcloak ontop of a Hufflepuff sweater.

Both of their faces lit up when they saw him. Cedric ran over, hugging the smaller boy tightly. "NEVILLE!" He cried. "We were so—well, I was worried. I don't know about Luna. You know how she is. But is it true? Did a Slytherin really adopt you? What's he like? He isn't mean to you, is he? You're okay with him, right? My parents would be glad to have you over if you ever need to get away, remember that! Are you getting enough to eat, you look like you lost some—GOLLY! Nev, you've grown like three inches! You look so different! A good different, but geez! It's only been a month since I last saw you!"

"Cedric!" Neville laughed. "Calm down. Sammael's really nice, and yes, he takes really good care of me. It's so nice with him. Remember, I told you about my dreams? It's him! He's finally come!"

Cedric's eyes seemed to open with understanding. Luna, on the other hand, was simply staring off into space, seemingly unconcerned with everything. "The Nargles seem content when they're around you." She said dreamily. She said everything dreamily. "Not near as agitated as they usually are. Slytherin man must be good for you why is there a basilisk?" there was no space between her two sentences, so it took Neville a moment before the question registered.

Besnik was sliding on his belly down the stairs, a large bulge in his middle told Neville that he'd eaten recently, which explained why he looked so content. Briefly, Neville wondered how Luna even was able to recognize Besnik as a basilisk, but then he figured the red plume of feather like scales on the serpent's crown was a pretty dead give away. " ** _Whose hatchlings are these?"_** Besnik asked him. Neville was still finding it bizarre to understand him, but parseltongue was something that came with being an heir of Slytherin.

" ** _Mine,_** " Neville said. " ** _I mean, these are my friends. Luna, and Cedric. Please don't scare them, Besnik._** " Besnik chuckled in his snakey way at this, but didn't verbally answer. Neville turned back to his friends, trying to ignore how pale Cedric looked, and how amused Luna was. "That was Besnik" he said at the basilisk slithered off. "He's Sammael's familiar. He's actually really nice. Once you get to know him."

"So it's true then?" Cedric whispered. "Lord Slytherin murdered Harry Potter's muggle relatives? He's the only one that owns a basilisk that anyone knows of…" Neville chewed on his bottom lip, trying to figure out how to explain things. A though occurred to him.

"Hey, Cedric?" he hesitantly asked the older boy, effectively getting his full attention. "You know how phoenixes only bond with those of noble heart?" Neville asked. It was a myth, of course. Phoenixes were attracted to power, but Cedric didn't know that, as he nodded. "Kai!" Neville called. Kai appeared in a flash of flame. Cedric's jaw dropped in awe.

"I can't tell you anything, but _please_ trust that he's a good man." Cedric looked hesitant, but in the end, he nodded.

"I trust you," he said firmly, his voice wavering only slightly. "But…he did kill them, then?"

"It was necessary," Luna said, sounding certain, which was an odd thing in and of itself. "And it was deserved." Neville looked over at her. "The worst sort of muggles," she whispered to the air next to her. "Neville is safe here. It is for the good of everyone that Sammael take him. Magic herself purrs in content," Luna started caressing the wall nearest to her. "she's been so weak for so long…"

Cedric's face showed fondness for Luna's strangeness, and worry for his other friend. "Promise that if anything even slightly scary happens, you'll tell me?"

Neville smiled confidently at him. "Nothing will, but I promise just the same." Cedric was barely able to return his smile when Sammael descended down the stairs. The teens all turned to look at him as one. He looked…normal.

Well, normal for a wizard, but nothing like you'd expect after reading the papers. Half of which made him seem like a rising dark Lord, the other half like some long lost prince. He was dressed plainly and very much like a modern muggle, with fashionable jeans, a strange long sleeved shirt and his long hair tied back in a tail.

"Lord Slytherin," Cedric murmured as he bowed slightly. Sammael looked amused. Luna gave him a rather vacant wave.

"Please, call me Sammael," he insisted kindly. "Are you children hungry?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Wassup peoples! I'd just like to thank everyone who has reviewed favorited or followed lately. Lots has been going on, and I know I'm not as quick about updating as I used to be, and I'm sorry about that. If you guys have any questions, ideas, comments or criticisms, I welcome them all. Especially the negatives, I tend to get more ideas from those, as well as an insight as to what I need to change or improve about my writing.**

 **Also, I've got a Harry Potter—Sherlock Holmes crossover I'm working on at the moment, so I'd be super happy if you'd check that out and tell me what you think!**

The children were in one of the greenhouses as Neville showed off his new giant pitcher plant, which he was growing to harvest the intestinal juices for a special potion that would increase the growth and production of various other plants. They were back again for the third time, and the boy was no longer as reserved or wary around Sammael. Sammael watched from the veranda, leaning on the marble railing, with a smile on his face. Neville was much more comfortable now than he had ever been, his young face was fairly glowing with life. If Neville was made this happy because of the Hufflepuff Seeker, and the strange little Raven (who Sammael suspected was either a Seer, or one gifted to see magic), he would happily give the two of them each their own rooms, to keep them near Neville as much as possible.

Of course, their own parents might object to that.

The more Sammael spent in this new time, the more he was saddened by the state of his Familial Line's reputations. When people heard his last name, or recognized him, nine times out of ten they would either turn away, tremble in fear, or look down their noses in disgust.

But he tried not to focus too hard on that. It was on his 'to do' list for the following months, to try and restore honor to the Slytherin name. He'd already bought up several hundred acres of good woodland in Scotland, Ireland and various places in England, and set about contractors to building houses on them. He planned on contacting various Werewolf packs and giving them the properties, as well as information on how to make the transformations less painful. With luck, within a decade or two the werewolves may be able to be restored to their former glory.

Not only that, but he recently began attending a couple Wizemgot meetings; he'd contacted the Minister of Magic, made connections. He'd planted the idea of a primary school to introduce Muggleborns more smoothly into society, and for wizarding children to learn to read, write, and basic maths and science skills. Many people had taken the idea well, others…not so much. But Sammael was optimistic.

He looked down at the letter he held in his hand. Dumbledore again. No words could describe the contempt he felt for that man. This time, the letter was delivered by owl, not phoenix. The owl wasn't even able to fly through the wards, Kai had to rescue the poor thing. Dumbledore had contacted him after Sammael had raised the matter of his primary school idea. Now, he was trying to convince Sammael for funding to make said primary school a branch off of Hogwarts. Sammael snorted out loud as he ripped up the letter. The old man had babbled about having similar ideals, and "despite the unfortunate circumstances" wherewith they'd met, he was sure they'd be able to see eye-to-eye.

A small, childish part of Sammael's brain started thinking up names for his primary school that would annoy the Headmaster. "Slytherin Snakepit" "Slytherin's School for Gifted Youngesters" "Serpentscale School of Dark Arts". He didn't realize he'd been muttering outloud until Kai and Besnik joined in.

 ** _"'Besnik's Nest for Magical Hatchlings'"_** Besnik suggested.

" ** _Phoenixfeather Academy of Magic_** "

 ** _"Snakey Snakey Elementary"_**

 ** _"Everfire Primary"_**

 ** _"How's that going bug the Dumby?"_**

 ** _"Oh, it that what we're trying to figure out? I thought we were arguing who the school is going to be named after."_**

 ** _"Stupid Chicken"_**

 ** _"Annoying worm"_**

 ** _"I could eat you"_**

 ** _"I'd give you heart burn"_**

By this point Sammael was just tuning them out.

***1047***

Sirius was throwing another tantrum, Severus noted in the back of his mind as he added a sprig of Holly to the fever reducing potion he was brewing. He watched contentedly as the liquid turned a vibrant shade of red and started foaming. The smell wasn't too pleasant, but Severus was used to it. He was mostly ignoring the angry mutterings coming from the other room, until he heard a crash and Remus yelping in pain.

"Sirius!"

"Sorry, Moony"

Severus sighed fondly as he pushed away from the cauldron, waving his wand to activate the stasis spell, the he padded, barefoot into the living room. Remus was clutching his left foot, while hopping around on the right. The coffee table was up turned, several books were strewn across the floor. Sirius himself looked slightly sheepish, but there was a good about of anger in his deep brown eyes. Severus sighed, hoping that his new flatmate hadn't been taken victim by the "Black Madness".

"What is it this time?" Severus drawled. He was surprised when in response Sirius walked over to him and headbutted him gently, letting his head rest against Severus' chest. The dog animagus heaved out a sigh. "Black?" Severus inquired.

"Dmbledorsmnameeeee" Sirius wailed with his face still muffled in Severus' robes. Severus took him by the shoulders and gently pushed him an arm's length away.

"What?" both Severus and Remus asked, confused.

Sirius dug into his pocket and handed Severus a piece of parchment before flopping down dramatically on the couch. Severus then sat down on the couch, on Sirius' stomach. " _Oof!"_ Remus leaned over the back of the couch to read over Severus, a hand resting lightly on Severus' shoulder.

"…Glad to hear of your innocence…apologize for not…my understanding that….Malfoy…guest…hope there's no enmity…" Remus muttered as he read through the letter that Dumbledore supposedly sent his mate. Then he sat down beside Severus on Sirius' legs, massaging his temples.

"Oi! I'm not a pillow!"

"I can't believe him!" Remus suddenly snapped. "' _Oh, I'm sorry I forgot you were innocent. By the way, you wanna take me to that party so I can crash it with my stupid fashion sense_? _Want a lemon drop_?" Remus asked, agitatedly mocking Dumbledore. Severus put a hand between the werewolf's shoulder blades, rubbing in slow circles. Remus slowly calmed down, leaning against his friend, his fingers idly running up and down his mate's leg.

"Are you even going to bother responding, Black?" Severus asked, curious.

"For the love of Morgana, Sevvy! My name is Sirius! And, heck no. Why on earth would I?" Severus only nodded, standing back up to pace the room. Sirius sat up so that he was holding Remus in his lap. Severus watched fondly as Remus snuggled down into his mates' arms, ignoring the strange, foreign twisting sensation in his gut.

"Why on earth would he even want to attend the Malfoy's big summer party, anyway?" Sirius wondered out loud. "All the Dark families gather there. It's not like he'd be welcome, or anything. Honestly, I'm surprised _I_ got an invite."

"So you've said," said Remus, dryly before pressing a chaste kiss to Sirius' lips. Sirius smiled slightly, before pressing his face into the curve of Remus' neck, breathing in deeply. Remus was about to close his eyes at the feeling, when he saw Severus still in the room. He blushed and shoved Sirius away.

"The best guess I have, is that it has something to do with Slytherin." Severus answered Sirius. "He's been working on starting a primary school to help transition Muggleborns into the wizarding world, so that we're not simply shoving them into the deep end, so to speak, when they attend Hogwarts. Dumbledore is concerned this means indoctrinating them as toddlers and young children for the Dark Arts."

"I've heard good things about that guy," Sirius said, drawing Remus closer. "He's fighting for werewolf rights. Building reserves, houses. I even heard talk about plans for a creature version of Diagon Alley, since most shops won't cater to them. Which is ridiculous, really." Remus nodded sadly.

"You'll be attending the ball together, won't you?" Severus asked. "You'll be meeting him there, I'm sure."  
"Oh no you don't" Sirius waggled an admonishing finger at Severus.

"What now, mutt?"

"You're coming too!"

"I'm neither a House Lord, nor _invited_." Which wasn't necessarily true, Lucius had once told Severus that he had an open invitation to everything. But out of formalities he never received an invitation. That was reserved for "important folk", as Lucius had also said with a smirk.

"So what? I've got two arms. One for you, one for Remy."

Remus, the infernal dog, was giggling at this. "What are you babbling about, Black?"

"Geez, it's _Sirius._ Or Padfoot, if you really don't like my name for some unearthly reason. And also, what? Do you want me to get on my knees and ask?" Severus had nothing to say to this. So Sirius smirked, shoved Remus off his lap. He kneeled in front of Severus and tried taking one of the Potion Master's hands in his, but Severus tore it away with a scowl. Sirius was undeterred.

"Severus _I-can't-remember-your-middle-name_ Snape," Sirius said dramatically with a mock serious expression on his face. "Will you do me the honour of being my date to the ball?"

"You're unbelievable" Remus was outright laughing his head off now. Severus' scowled, unable to hide the flush that crept up his neck.

***1047***

Voldemort examined his reflection in the full length mirror in front of him. He had long since returned to his human form: his hair was thick and wavy; his facial features aristocratically regal, yet gaunt. He was tall and slender. His age could have been anywhere from twenty-five to the late thirties, though he'd chosen the exact age of twenty-seven. The only difference between how he looked now, and how he'd looked in his youth, was his eyes. They were a deep red, Gryffindor red, even. Voldemort found this amusing.

He was dressed in simple, tasteful dress robes. They were midnight blue, almost black, with Slytherin Silver trimmings and fastens. Frowning slightly, he applied a hissed parseltongue glamour over his telltale eyes, turning them a deep blue. He'd always hated having such coming brown eyes when he was a child, he'd often changed them to this color just to spite his own genetics. Lastly, he glamoured his hair a platinum blonde, straightening it and growing it out slightly passed his shoulders. Voldemort tied it back, then plastered on a fake smile (not that it looked anything but genuinely pleased) and voila! He was Renatus Heosphoros Malfoi, a distant cousin of Lucius Malfoy from France.

He'd been using this persona for little over a year now, so that he, himself, could enter the Ministry undeterred. Another perk to this disguise was that he could actually leave his house without being swarmed by annoying Aurors or Order Members.

Giving himself a last once-over, he nodded, satisfied that he was ready for tonight. This would be an important gathering. The new Lord Black (who Lucius assures him has lost all faith in Dumbledore), his mate the werewolf (Fenrir has been trying to bring Lupin back into the pack for decades), and the mysterious Lord Slytherin would all (possibly) be there.

"Renatus" allowed himself a small smile. The Light had never stood a chance, but now, the Dark had never been stronger.

***1047***

Neville allowed his cousin to adjust his light summer cloak around his shoulders while Neville watched him work in the mirror. Sammael was nearly paranoid, wanting Neville to make a good impression tonight. Neville refrained from telling his cousin that everyone who would be there already hated him, though he thought about it very loudly. Sammael looked regal, wearing a pure white tunic that was buckled with thick red-brown dragon leather. His long, soft cloak was emerald green with a deep hood that was hanging back from his neck at the moment. He wore black trousers and high boots that matched his dragon leather belt. Black gloves with white trim were on his hands, and his cloak was fastened by a silver crest of the Slytherin house. His hair flowed freely down his back, his wand was holstered at his left hip and Besnik had draped himself over Sammael's shoulders. Besnik was under a powerful glamour, so that he seemed to be a non-descript red-bellied black snake, however he was at his true length: an impressive fifteen feet. His body was wrapped around Sammael under the green cloak, a large portion of it coiled up in the nest of the cloak's hood.

Neville wore a bit more of a modernized look, with a short white collared-tunic under a black vest that buttoned up, black slacks as well as a red-brown tie around his neck. He wore a thin, knee-length lapelled jacket over the ensemble and a red-brown wizarding summer-cloak on top of that that hung open to keep him cool. Kai had claimed his right shoulder as his perch.

Sammael, finishing with straightening Neville's clothing moved on to fuss about his hair, which refused to lay flat. Sammael took out his wand and tried to cast motion-freezing charms as he worked, but for some reason the charms wouldn't stick. Sammael scowled before casting a controlled _aguamenti_ , wetting Neville's head, but not getting a drop on his robes. Then he used his fingers to comb the hair back and down. But as soon as he dried the water away, Neville's hair popped right back up.

"It's fine, Mae," Neville was trying not to laugh. Sammael looked like he wanted to argue, but then he glanced at the clock and sighed.

"It would not do to be late for the gala," Sammael final decided. This said, he led the way to the fireplace where he took took a false book off of the mantle. He opened it, revealing the false book to be a Floo Powder container. He took a pinch then passed it to Neville, who also took some. "Malfoy Manor" he said in a resigned tone, with one last look at Neville's hair, before throwing in the powder and stepping through.

"Malfoy Manor" Neville squeaked, suddenly feeling nervous. What was he doing? The sheer ridiculousness of everything suddenly smacked him. Here he was _Neville Longbottom_ , about to follow the Lord Slytherin into a gathering of known Dark Wizards. Then Kai trilled out a coo, and Neville took a steadying breath as he walked into the flames. He was very proud of himself when he managed to step out of the Floo without falling over. Usually he tripped upon arrival. He was very glad he didn't, when he noticed that the Malfoys were standing before him in the greeting area. He recognized several other people as they arrived from other Floos: Lord Greengrass and his family, the Goyles, the Parkinsons along with people he didn't know.

Neville saw Mae speaking with the Malfoy Patriarch, and so he gathered up whatever Gryffindor bravery that was in his blood, and joined his cousin. Narcissa was standing at Lucius' side, Draco was in front of her. His eyes met Neville's and the Malfoy heir gave Neville a cordial smile and nod. Standing just apart from the three of them was another blue-eyed, blonde man. The man was obviously a Malfoy.

"I see you've brought your newly claimed heir, Lord Slytherin," Lucius said politely, though his eyes were cold and his smile thin and hard. "I was pleased when I received your confirmation. I so have been looking forward to meeting you, I've long been an admirer of your family's legacy."

"As have I," said Sammael with just the right amount of playfulness and poise. "Please, Lord Malfy, my name is Sammael." Neville noticed that the fourth, new, Malfoy suddenly seemed much more interested in the conversation.

"Sammael?" Lucius asked in surprise.

"Yes," confirmed Sammael. "The reporter woman got it wrong."

"Named after the Original Lord Slytherin's eldest son, I preseume?" The fourth Malfoy's eyes widened. "Supposedly the most powerful out of all his children."

"Indeed, Sammael the First is my namesake. I come from his line, however Salazar the second is most likely the most powerful out of all of them. He achieved the most, and his work still stands today. If that isn't great power, I don't know what is."

"What do you mean? Salazar the Second? I was unaware that Salazar Slytherin bore a son that shared his name." Neville saw the shock and…sadness (?) on Sammael's face. He figured that he was only upset because such an important member of his family history had been forgotten.

"Yes, he did. There was first Sammael, then Selwyn around a decade and a half later. After him came their sister, Synnove. And lastly the babe Salazar the Second, born directly after his father was murdered by muggles." Four pairs of wide Malfoy eyes were suddenly fixed on Sammael.

"Murdered by muggles?" asked the fourth Malfoy.

"Yes. They'd just attacked Hogsmeade and his…favored son, Sammael, suffered extreme magical drain and injury attempting to save one of Godric Gryffindor's daughters. The Healers were hysterical and jumped to the wrong conclusion: that the boy would be rendered a squib, and scarred—perhaps crippled—for life. In a fit of anger, he made to attack the muggles, but Godric followed and attempted to dissuade him. He proved to be an…unfortunate distraction, and while they fought outside the gates, the muggles rained down a volley of arrows…one of which made a lucky hit through Salazar's eye. Thus began the famous Gryffindor/Slytherin rivalry. Slytherin's disciples blamed Gryffindor for Salazar's death, and Gryffindor's blamed Slytherin's for provoking the muggles."

"Truly?" asked Lucius. "This is not a story to be told standing. Come, let us go to the banquet hall. I'm eager to hear more." The fourth Malfoy cleared his through pointedly.

"Ah! How rude of me!" Lucius's normally pale face flushed slightly for a moment. "As you know, I am Lord Malfoy, but I would be pleased to have you and your Heir call me Lucius. This is my wife, Narcissa, and my son, Draco. Here" Lucius bowed slightly to the fourth Malfoy, which Neville found odd, "is my cousin, the Marquis Renatus Malfoi, from the French branch of my family tree."

Renatus smiled and bowed to Sammael who returned the gesture. "Well met, Marquis Malfoi. May I introduce my and the Gryffindor heir, Neville Longbottom."

The Marquis inclined his head. "Renatus please. I was unaware that the Prophecy Child is also a Hogwarts Heir." He said as Lucius began to lead them all down a grand looking hallway. "Might I ask why the Slytherin Lord would choose an Heir from a rival family?"

"Ah," said Sammael "But you see, Renatus, I've always thought that the rivalry was silly. It wasn't even started by members of either family, rather supporters or ex-students. As for the original Gryffindor, his parents adopted my ancestor after his own parents surrendered him to be burned. Muggle fear was prevalent in that time. Godric and Salazar were as close as brothers. Godric's children called Salazar 'uncle', and the same was true for the Slytherin children. Godric chased himself into an early grave with the guilt that he'd helped to cause his best friend's death, but this only fueled the rivalry between the school houses. You see, Renatus, before they invented the Sorting Hat, children chose for themselves which virtue was most important to them, then they had to prove themselves to their chosen master. Helga was known for never turning down anyone, while Salazar was the most picky, favoring those with previous knowledge—thus the false impression that he disliked Muggleborns. This system ensured that all students were fiercely loyal to their chosen Head, when Salazar died, his students mourned for him like they would a father. Naturally, when they passed the blame onto Godric, which pushed him into depression, the Gryffindor House retaliated. So you see, Renatus? There _is_ no rivalry…not between the families. I'm hoping to make that clear by choosing young Neville. That, along with the fact that he makes for excellent company."

Sammael beamed at Neville, who returned the smile. Lucius seated himself at the head of the table, since it was his Gala. Sammael sat directly to his right, Narcissa to his left. Draco sat beside her, and Neville across from him. Between Sammael and his heir, Renatus sat.

"From what you're saying, I gather that Slytherin was a Muggleborn?" asked someone down the table who'd been listening in. Lucius shot the man a dirty look, but Sammael pretended not to notice.

"Yes, that is true." Sammael nodded serenely. "Which is why he so hated muggles. His own parents shunned him for his magnificent power, not just shunned, but attempted to kill him, treated him worse than a dog. According to his journals, he was half dead with starvation by the time Godric, a boy barely older than he at the time, found him and rescued him. Godric was the son of a Lord who was secretly a wizard. The Gryffindors were powerful in the newly forming wizarding community. We were few, and the Gryffindors were the closest we had to a king. Many looked to them for guidance and protection. Even they, however, had record of Muggleborn ancestors in recent generations." Many people were absorbing everything Sammael was saying, but Sammael acted as though he were simply chatting about his dog over tea with Neville. Besnik hissed out a laugh at his master, and Kai rolled his eyes.

"It was believed that the original Muggleborns had been gifted with the power of magic by the gods…though now it's suspected it's actually through intermarriage with elves…and so each newling found was treasured. When Lord and Lady Gryffindor saw their only child bearing the half dead body of another boy, the records say the decided instantly to keep him as their own. However, Salazar kept him own last name to spite his parents. His parents were well known in the muggle world, they owned much land and servants. He swore to become great, so that even the muggles knew that Salazar Slytherin was the greatest wizard of all time."

"You're saying, if he hadn't," Draco suddenly said, his eyes wide. When the adults in the room looked down at him reproachfully, his ears turned pink and he looked down into his lap. Sammael pretended not to notice the looks that the adults were giving the heir for 'speaking out of turn', instead smiling kindly as more and more guests seated themselves at the long, elaborate table.

"If he hadn't, there would have been no Slytherin House, yes. So I can say I am very glad that he didn't. Despite this, I consider Neville family, seeing as how he is the last surviving member of the Gryffindor Line, now that Harry Potter is dead."

"Harry was the heir of Gryffindor?" asked a man down the table. He as seated between two other men. One of them was obviously a werewolf, and Sammael noticed with a good measure of happiness that no one seemed repulsed by him. The other was a dour faced man with black eyes and hair. Sammael recognized the two wizards, but couldn't place a name to the werewolf.

"Yes, Lord Black." Sammael smiled at him, then frowned when he saw anguish barely hidden in the man's face. He'd have to look up and see if there was any connection between the Blacks and the Potters. "The Potters were descended from Gethin Gryffindor, Godric's oldest son. And the Longbottoms from Agape Gryffindor, his youngest daughter."

"You seem to know a lot about all of the Hogwarts Lines," said Renatus. "How?"

"I have access to their self-updating family trees," Sammael said happily. "It's half the reason I decided to come. I was hoping that the Smiths would be here, but three out of the four isn't bad."

He'd only said this to gage the reactions, and he had to say he was pleased. Many people gasped or blurted out questions, though he decided to answer Lucius who asked "So it's true then? Geofry is descended from Helga Hufflepuff?" Sammael nodded with a smile. "I plan on meeting him later, building bridges and all that. I think our ancestors would be happy if we were all to reunite for the good of Hogwarts. The state of my ancestor's pride and joy leaves me depressed. The curriculum needs up dating in History, Defense, Divination, and many arts which were supposed to be taught, but have since been banned for some reason unknown to Merlin. Furthermore, the petty rivalry should not be encouraged."

What he said went largely ignored because just then Renatus asked "You said three out of four? Who is the heir of Ravenclaw?" Sammael was honestly surprised at this.

"You don't know? I'd thought it was common knowledge that the Prince line descended from Rowena Ravenclaw's son, Coeus de Fole." Sammael was looking directly at Severus Snape, who's jaw had dropped open slightly. "I do hope you'll agree to pay Neville and myself a visit before the school year starts come fall." Severus dumbly nodded as the entire table stared dumbfounded at him. Sammael recalled that Severus had been disowned from the Prince family, however he knew that he still had access to the Ravenclaw vaults. And if he claimed his rightful place as Lord Ravenclaw he'd be granted access into the Prince Vaults. Perhaps, if Severus needed it, he'd hint about it when the man visited him. Hopefully it would also give Neville a chance to get over his fear of the man.

"Have you any proof for these claims?" demanded a man down the table. Lord Goyle was it? It didn't escape Sammael's notice that both Lucius and Renatus glared daggers at the man, who visibly wilted. Sammael answered him anyway.

"Not with me, no. I don't tend to carry around priceless artifacts to dinner parties," this prompted a round of chuckles. "However, the Ravenclaw heir does," Severus looked up sharply. "His blood is all the proof Gringotts needs to claim his birthright." Renatus looked very thoughtful at this. Lord Black was gazing at his…friend (?) with something like awe in his eyes.

Soon after this, Lord Malfoy made the formal welcoming announcement and the feast began. The food was delicious, and reminded Sammael of the elaborate holiday meals the elves would make at Hogwarts in his time. Neville and Draco spoke about things quietly to each other, concerning school and house rivalries. Neville regaled Draco with stories of the founders that Sammael had told him. Renatus was also listening intently, though he was pretending to ignore the two boys as he ate.

Somehow the boy's conversation drifted to Draco's position as Slytherin Keeper, and whether or not Neville would play. Sammael couldn't hold in a soft chuckle. His laugh hadn't been very loud, but it immediately caught Neville and Draco's attention. "Did I say something amusing?" Draco asked, keeping his voice polite. Though there was worry in his eyes, he was probably afraid he'd embarrassed himself in front of "Lord Slytherin".

"Not at all, Heir Malfoy," Sammael said with a grin. "I was simply remembering two rather parallel passages in two different journals. One in Godric's, one in Salazar's." Renatus and many others looked up in interest. Sammael ignored him, instead looking to Neville. "Did you know that Godric's clumsiness, carelessness and habitual recklessness was just as well-known as his bravery? Rowena used to lock her laboratory doors in fear of Godric coming in and knocking everything over." Sammael laughed, and several people joined him. "Despite this…" Sammael paused for effect. "He was one of the people who invented Quidditch."

Draco's mouth dropped. "Godric Gryffindor invented _Quidditch_?"

"In part," Sammael smile. "According to Gryffindor and Slytherin, it started with Godric's favorite nephew, Sammael Slytherin, asking his Uncle if he knew any games they could play without getting off their brooms during a flying lesson one day. Salazar Slytherin was watching from below as he tended his potion's garden. Godric flew to the earth and grabbed a large stone, which he transfigured into a leather ball. Then he pulled two branches from a nearby tree, transfiguring them into thick, smooth poles, and handed one to Sammael. They occupied themselves for a little while, hitting it back and forth, until Godric accidently sent the ball flying towards Salazar." Draco's eyes were as wide as saucers. "To escape the horrible wrath of Slytherin, Godric and Sammael fled with their brooms into the castle—"

"Wait!" Draco interrupted, much to his father's horror. "Quidditch was invented _at Hogwarts_?" Sammael grinned and nodded.

"Anyway, just hitting the one ball back and forth got boring, and so they snuck into Rowena's study, where she had a rather large collection of bird statuettes. He stole a yellow bird with crystal wings, which he transfigured into a small golden ball with crystal wings. They sent it flying, and chased after it, once again almost hitting Salazar while flying. He shouted at them to 'Quit it'. But they ignored him, and so he charmed two sturdy balls to chase after them, to try and knock them off their brooms." Understanding was dawning in the eyes of the boys, and Sammael found his grin growing. "Right about then, Rowena noticed that her favorite statuette was missing, so she used her wand to find it. Obviously, it let her right to where Sammael and Godric were flying around in the Great Hall, dodging the flying balls while trying to catch the golden orb. She recognized what it was and screamed out 'You snitch!'" That brought on a round of giggles from the younger occupants of the table.

"Long story a little bit shorter," Sammael grinned. "It escalated. And within five minutes Godric and Sammael had both rammed into a brick wall, knocking themselves out. The very next day, however, they were at it again. This time with some of the local children and Salazar himself." Sammael smiled at Draco. "You may find it interesting that the Seeker is considered so important, because Godric and Salazar were the first Quidditch Seekers." The youngest Malfoy grinned widely.

The rest of the feast passed pleasantly, with Lords and Lady's making small talk. They asked him about his future plans, and so he told them of his desire to help the creature community and restore the 'Lost Arts'. "You speak boldly for a Slytherin," said Lord Black, though there was respect in his eyes. "Most wouldn't agree with you."

"So lost as they don't interfere, I couldn't care less who agrees or not. However, I do not mean to say I wish to start conflicts. Just know that the Slytherin family has always been...extreme, as I'm sure you're aware." Sammael smiled. They asked him about his family, to which he told them that he had, up until present, lived a rather secluded life with his close family, until a tragedy made staying unbearable. He didn't go into detail, and no one asked him to. Though he made it very clear that he was the last surviving member of his Line, to his knowledge.

"Do you believe that, as the last surviving member, It's your duty to continue the line?" asked Lady Zambini, who was supposedly a recent widow.

"Yes," said Sammael simply. "That's what my Lion's for." Neville blushed at this and Draco raised an eyebrow.

"But he isn't Slytherin," Zambini pressed. "I meant to ask if you plan to have children of your own."

"I may adopt, eventually." Sammael said.

"But they wouldn't be true Slytherins," Zambini stated. Sammael shook his head.

"I keep forgetting what is well-known fact, and what has been forgotten," Sammael said. "Adoption has long been held sacred in the Slytherin Line." Sammael felt Renatus' unwavering gaze, and turned to smile at him. "Salazar Slytherin himself originally had no desire to marry, and so he adopted a five-year-old magical child, transferring his blood and magic to the boy. Sammael, despite being the only child that was not his through birth is still remembered as his favored one."

Lucius nodded. "The Malfoy family is old, and there are a precious few journals from an ancestor who knew Salazar Slytherin when he was a boy, and his family with the Beauxbatons, traveled to learn from Hogwarts. He met Sammael, who was around seven years older than he. It was after Salazar had married, and sired children of his own. But my forefather made it clear that Sammael was to be Salazar's heir, that he sat in the seat of honour where the Headmaster now sits, and that Salazar valued his son's opinion above even his own Lady wife's. However, I seem to recall reading that Sammael committed suicide out of grief a scant five years after Salazar's death, and that he never married."

"That was a rumor spread at the time to protect my ancestor," Sammael said. "The truth is, the rivalry that was growing disgusted him. And the sight of him caused Godric pain, reminding him that he'd caused the demise of his brother. And so he left. He didn't kill himself, he simply left to learn more. He eventually adopted a boy the same manor that Salazar had adopted him, and settled down somewhere in Scotland. The exact location isn't made known, but it was clear he lived close to his childhood home under a disguise."

"Interesting," Lucius said. "This adoption…it was a blood ritual?"

"Of sorts." Sammael agreed. A half an hour later, and a group of musicians began to softly play a waltz. Lucius smiled at his wife and led her out to the floor where they began to step and twirl in graceful rhythm. Two by two couples stood and joined the Malfoys after their first circuit of the room. Sammael smiled a bit when he saw Lord Black leading the werewolf—who he thought he heard Black call 'Remus'—and the Ravenclaw Heir onto the dance floor. He noticed that Severus Snape didn't go quite as willingly as Remus.

A hand on his arm brought him back to the present. Sammael turned to looked at the man next to him. Renatus held out a hand to him. "Might I have this dance?" he asked, he wore a smile that seemed genuine at first glance, but Sammael knew a Slytherin mask when he saw one. But Sammael only smiled back and nodded, rising to his feet and placing a hand in the crook on Renatus' arm.


	10. Chapter 10

Voldemort had to admit that Sammael was…interesting to say the least. When he first heard the other man's name, he immediately thought of the old basilisk's stories. Could he really be descended from the original Sammael Slytherin? It was looking more and more like it. Voldemort examined the _young_ basilisk on Sammael's shoulders as they danced smoothly to the instrumentalists. "Your companion," Voldemort gestured with his head towards the serpent. "He's beautiful. I must say I've never seen a snake quite like that before."

" ** _Liar_** ," hissed the basilisk. It took all of Voldemort's Slytherin training to not react to the basilisk's words. After all, he was supposed to be just your average nobleman; not a parselmouth. Sammael didn't respond to his basilisk's muttering's either. He only smiled that brilliantly bright smile.

"Basilisk breeding is a bit of a family tradition," he said, his eyes dancing in amusement. "My father aided me in hatching Besnik when I was a boy. He's been my constant companion ever since. He along with Kai," Sammael nodded towards the phoenix who was still sitting upon Neville's head.

"A basilisk and a phoenix," Voldemort mused. "What an ironic combination."

"On the contrary, I think they perfectly complement each other," Sammael said. "Basilisks live but one long life. Phoenixes' lives are short, but many. One is a killer, but can be used to heal. One is a healer that can kill. Both have intelligence that rivals a human's, and yet neither survive very well on their own."

"But can't they?" asked Voldemort. "Basilisks are powerful beasts, much like dragons. Surely they can care for themselves? As for phoenixes, I've never known that species to be particularly weak, either."

"You misunderstand me Renatus," said Sammael. "I never meant to say they were weak, only that they cannot survive very well on their own. Basilisk's can only be born after forming a bond with a wizard. If that bond is ever severed, their mind begins to slip away, their power wanes, their very magic fades until there is nothing left but a husk. Phoenixes are social creatures, despite not having flocks. Phoenixes _can_ die permanently, should they choose to. And lonely phoenixes often _do_ wish to die."

Voldemort thought on this for a moment as he spun the smaller wizard in a circle. "You speak as a philosopher or, at the very least, an old man. But your youth is evident on your face. How old are you?"

"Twenty-three"

Voldemort stopped dancing abruptly, causing his partner to stumble. "Renatus" caught Sammael by the waist, before he could fall all the way. Besnik hissed in annoyance. The two wizards were pressed chest to chest and Voldemort found himself staring directly into the _much_ younger wizard's luminous eyes. "Are you alright?" Sammael asked him.

"You're barely more than a child," Voldemort said, his eyes wide.

"Now _you_ sound old," joked Sammael as he straightened back up. "I supposed you're far older than I."

"That I am, though I might not look it."

"I'd guess your age to be around thirty."

Voldemort was about to respond when he suddenly remembered he was supposed to be playing the part of Renatus Malfoy, a 27 year old. He cursed himself, for allowing Sammael to distract him. "Indeed" Voldemort decided upon with a smirk. Sammael rolled his eyes. Voldemort took back up Sammael's hand, and began to lead once more.

His younger partner seemed content to remain silent for now, which suited Voldemort. This young man intrigued him. Sammael's views were not very different from his own, if from a more pacifist standpoint. Not only that, but power poured off of him like a waterfall. Glorious, warm grey magic. Voldemort was content to simply bask in that power as he watched Sammael's hair sway in time with their dance, and his robes flutter against his slender legs.

The younger man's companion stared at him from his perch on Sammael's shoulders. " ** _Master,_** " Besnik hissed. " ** _There is something strange about this one. He cannot be trusted. He reeks of foul magic, his soul quivers in pain whenever a light wizard draws near. I do not like the way he looks at you._** " Besnik's tongue flicked in and out distastefully. Voldemort didn't know he should react, and so prevented from outwardly reacting at all, once more. He wanted to defend himself, but he didn't want to have to explain how he understood parseltongue.

Instead he said. "I'm very interested in Hogwarts history, you know," Sammael's eyes met his, flicking back quickly from where they had strayed to watch Lord Black attempt to dance with both Severus and their pet werewolf at once. "I never knew that the rivalry between the Lions and the Snakes began despite the founder's wishes. I always heard that Gryffindor banished Slytherin from Hogwarts because of his hatred of Muggles and Muggle-borns." A pained look came across Sammael's face that went so deep it made Voldemort take pause. There was true sadness in Slytherin's eyes.

"This is the common story?" Sammael asked softly, his eyes distant. Voldemort nodded slowly, thinking that Sammael must have a very soft heart to be so affected by ancient history. "I have read in my br—forefather's journal and Salazar the second was often held at arms' length by his aunts and uncle, because of his hatred towards Mundanes and what he considered 'their kind'. But they never abandoned him nor forced him away, they were family, after all. Salazar the Second left of his own accord many times, usually out of anger, but he always came back. Why is this not known? Who has such hated towards the Slytherin Line that they should spread such lies? Salazar the first was known for his pride of how Mundane-born witches and wizards were nearly always able to keep up with their counterparts who were born into magic."

Once again, Voldemort didn't know how to respond. "Honestly, it is the matter of adoption I find most…" he hesitated, looking for the right word. "Surprising, I suppose. Adoption is almost non-existent in our culture. In fact, certain adoption rituals are, frankly, illegal. As a boy I…I knew a Hogwarts student who struggled to be adopted for that very reason. Perhaps if he'd had a chance to put fully accepted into a family by blood and magic it would have been different. Things could have been different. He was raised in an orphanage, you see."

"I intend to fix that," Sammael's face was hard, determined. "Mundanes mistreat magical young, almost without fail. I would have a haven be built for children like that. Perhaps if such a thing existed, young Harry Potter would not have suffered such a fate."

"You know much about him?"

"Very little, I'm afraid. But I am angry for him, not only because he is related to my darling heir, but because he was simply a little boy. It's a waste of magical blood, to trust Mundanes like so." Sammael sneered, but there was lingering sadness on his face. "I visited the house when I heard…so many years later and there were still traces of blood in a small, filthy cupboard under their staircase. Blood that still sung with magic. When the filth saw me, perceived who and what I was, they reacted as though they'd come across some unspeakable creature come up from hell…who was I do deny their delusions?"

"So you admit to it, then?" Voldemort asked, surprised that Sammael spoke of this so freely. A coy smile spread across that pale face.

"Admit to what, Renatus?" Sammael asked sweetly. Voldemort chuckled. Sammael was not obviously sly nor overly cunning like what one thinks of when confronted with a Slytherin, but Voldemort supposed that is what made Sammael so brilliant. He as not _obviously_ sly nor cunning. He was open, he brought you in; you couldn't help _but_ enjoy his company or grow fond of this young man. This was a man who inspired loyalty in strangers.

This man was dangerous. A possible threat. But more than that, this man was _family_. Voldemort's hands unconsciously tightened on Sammael's waist pulling him ever so slightly closer to himself, though the small wizard didn't make any notice of it. They danced for several more songs, distracted by their conversation that was sometimes political, sometimes friendly banter, sometimes light hearted discussions of the past, sometimes serious thoughts for the future. Voldemort found himself greatly disappointed when Sammael pulled away after the musicians paused in their playing.

"It grows late, and my charge is tired." Voldemort followed Sammael's gaze across the room to where Neville sat slumped on a low couch with the phoenix curled up in his lap. Voldemort watched a fond smile grow on Sammael's face. "I'll have to excuse myself for tonight, Marquis Renatus," Sammael bowed. Voldemort returned the gesture. "I hope to meet you again."

"As would I," Voldemort returned carefully. "It would please me should you lend your assistance in the matters we have spoken of. Should you be free next week, perhaps we could meet at one of our homes? I could offer aid in reaching the werewolf population, I have many friends in such circles, and you could help me with the issue of Dark Magic education." Sammael offered Voldemort a blinding smile, and despite himself Tom Riddle was _captivated_.

"I have no obligations," Sammael side. "I'd invite you to my home…but I doubt it'd be to a Malfoy's taste." Sammael said with a self-deprecating grin. "I must say that I've no love for excessive display of wealth; I live in a small cottage in Hogsmeade."

Voldemort was surprised. "Surely you could afford a palace should you wish it!"

"Of course, but why? It is just I and my heir, and we don't take up _that_ much room. Besides, I already have Hogwarts. Why would I need another castle?" Voldemort nearly shook his head, but stayed himself. It made sense in a Slytherin sort of way to not want to draw attention to themselves with gaudy décor or sparkling castles.

"I should like to see your home," he said instead. He was rewarded with yet another smile. "I do not mean to seem eager, but would tomorrow suffice? I've plans for the rest of the week." Sammael thought for a moment.

"In the morning, I'm taking Neville to America. There's a rather large wizarding city, I want to show him the gardens there. We should be back by lunch, however. Would one o'clock be an agreeable time? If you know where the Three Broomsticks are, we could meet there for lunch, then make our way back to our home?"

"That sounds excellent." Sammael extended a hand to shake, but Renatus turned it over and pressed his lips to the vein on Sammael's wrist. Sammael, taken aback by his forwardness, turned bright red while he wondered about the strange culture of modern day, seeing as how no one even glanced twice at Renatus' actions. Bright blue orbs peered up at Sammael through long lashes. " ** _It seeks to mate with_** **you,** _"_ the basilisk hanging on his shoulders hissed into Sammael's ear. The younger man felt his face heat up even more.

Voldemort was amused at how innocent young Sammael seemed to be. "I look forward to meeting you again," Voldemort said bowing, his voice kept a low, private murmur. Sammael only nodded again, as he backed away. He crossed the room, somehow looking flustered yet graceful at once as he hurried to wake his heir.

Voldemort watched as Neville slowly woke up, then smiled at his caretaker. Kai fluttered his wings, then leapt up to sit upon Besnik, who was still slung over his master. Longbottom slowly stood, subtly trying to stretch out the kinks in his back from his nap. Sammael brushed his fingers lovingly through Neville's hair, Neville flushed and pushed the hands away, making Sammael laugh.

Voldemort continued watching the two of them until they disappeared into the Malfoy's fireplace. Lucius suddenly appeared by his shoulder. "He's certainly a unique personality, my Lord," Lucius said quietly. Voldemort didn't respond, he didn't need to. "It would be profitable to sway him to our cause, not only for his wealth, but his obvious power and influence."

"He will be swayed to no cause but his own," Voldemort said dryly. "He believes himself too strongly, the mark of a man who has seen all opposite sides and found naught but absurdity. He must have run into Dumbledore."

Lucius stifled a grin, keeping his face at a perfect Malfoy mask, but Voldemort knew Lucius was amused. "But his cause is similar to ours, is it not? It's simply that he seems sympathetic to Muggle-borns that is the only difference."

"Yes," said Voldemort, eyes still fixed on where he last saw Sammael. "And yet it seems that we have been mistaken all these years." Lucius had to try very hard not to gape in surprise. "I always did think it a waste of magical blood, that the main fault of theirs was their ingrained ideals left over from their filthy parents. Perhaps if we take them away soon enough as Sammael has suggested, or even discover what ritual the Slytherin Line employs, we can dissolve that problem easily enough."

"You desire Pureblood families to adopt Muggle-Borns?" Lucius asked.

Voldemort shook his head slowly. "Not all of them. There are too many. Not adopt, but rather claim them, then let them stay in the houses Sammael wants to provide. It will provide the Lords with more power, it will protect our heritage, and it will further separate us from _them_." Lucius didn't feel the need to ask who "they" were.

Across the room, Severus was leaning against a wall, watching Remus and Sirius spin around the dance floor, giggling like the idiots they are. Severus had to admit he was in a very good mood as well. It was purely because in one night, Sammael Slytherin did more to influence the Dark than Dumbleore did in a lifetime of fighting against them. With the sly open obliviousness only a true Slytherin could ever master, Sammael made the _purebloods_ reconsider their opinion on blood purity, muggle-borns, equality in magic, equality of creatures and even the silly rivalry between houses.

Remus was smiling brighter than he had in years. Severus knew instantly when Sammael realized Lupin was a werewolf, and was surprised when, instead of disgust towards his friend, the Slytherin Lord smiled as though pleased. Here, among supposed enemies of peace, among supposed terrorists, Remus found acceptance of who he was, when all he ever found at the hands of the Light was persecution.

Severus had never been so glad he changed sides.

***1047****

"Soooooo?" asked Neville. Sammael turned to look at his heir, pausing in the process of removing his decorative outer robe. Lord Slytherin paused, waiting for his heir to continue his line of thought and only grew more confused when Neville simply stood grinning at him as though he'd uncovered some great, long veiled secret.

"Yes, my heir?" Sammael asked crooking a small smile at the boy as he shrugged, freeing his arms from his robes and handing it off to one of his elves. "Did you need something before you go off to bed?" he tilted his head pointedly towards the stairs that lead up to the bedrooms.

"No," Neville said slowly, still grinning. "I was just wondering what you thought of Malfoy's cousin. You know, the hot blonde you danced with _all night_." Sammael found himself flushing, and scowled at his heir while trying to ignore the rush he felt in his stomach. "He seemed nice, intelligent, not to mention rich."

"I do not need to marry for _money_ ," Sammael sneered, for the first time looking like the Slytherin stereotype Neville have long stopped expecting to see from him. It only confirmed his suspicions.

"Mael?" Neville asked in mock innocence. "Who said anything about marriage?"

With a flick of his wrist, Sammael's wand flew into his hand from his holster and with a graceful _swish_ Neville yelped when his rump was suddenly smacked by an unseen enemy. "Listen here you scamp," Sammael said, his eyes flashing dangerously, though Neville could see him suppressing an embarrassed grin "Marquis Malfoy shall be visiting on the morrow, and should you step out of line—"

"Yeah, yeah" Neville airily brushed aside Sammael's concerns. "I won't embarrass you in front of your boyfriend."

"He—" Sammael's face was so red by this point he was practically glowing. "We—he—I—there isn't—" Sammael shot another bolt of magic at Neville, chasing the Hufflepuff up the stairs. "It isn't!" he protested loudly. "Be off! To bed with you!"

******1047*****

Voldemort let his glamour drop as soon as the last guest had left, and there was none but the Malfoy Lord and Lady left to see him, as the Heir had gone to bed a few minutes prior. With a polite goodnight, he left to his quarters. Once alone with his thoughts, Voldemort dropped his head against the wood of his bedroom door and stared up at his ceiling.

Sammael Slytherin was…breathtaking. Driving him to distraction. Even after the gorgeous adonis had left, "Renatus" could think of nothing else. He had attempted to mingle, and dance with a young lady of high birth and renowned intellect, but after spending the better part of the evening with the young, charming Lord Slytherin, she really didn't have a chance of holding Voldemort's attention for long.

But that was just the problem, wasn't it?

Slytherin.

Even as he tried to talk himself out of pursuing such a _bad idea_ , a little voice in the back of his head murmured reassurances and encouragement. Sammael's family had been separate from the majority of England's magical populace as far as he could gather, which would mean that their family trees split apart presumable as far back as Sammael the first and Salazar the second. Furthermore, Sammael and Salazar II weren't even true blood brothers.

Ironically, despite Sammael and Voldemort being, perhaps, the last two in the line of Slytherin, they might be the two of the most distantly related men who attended that ball. After all, half of Voldemort's line came from muggles, and the Gaunts had been well…yeah…

Voldemort gave a helpless sort of laugh, scrubbing at his eyes as he imagined for the umpteenth time that night, the feeling of his hands on Sammael's trim waist. He could always blame this unfortunate infatuation on his mother's side.


End file.
